


Listen to the Man in the Barrow

by kallah



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-28
Updated: 2013-11-28
Packaged: 2017-11-10 21:28:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 29,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/470880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kallah/pseuds/kallah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another tip from Trent, another lab.  It's never that easy.</p>
<p>Novelverse, post-Code Veronica.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Chris took her Sig to inspect it, despite the fact that she'd just done that an hour ago, then leaned against the wall, ignoring the stained, peeling wallpaper. "The last time you didn't listen to me, you ended up in Antarctica."

"All you said was 'be careful who you drink with and beat up the assholes'. Nothing about 'don't go looking for me, I'm running off to Europe'." Claire stuffed an extra pair of socks in her bag and rummaged through the pile of clothes on the bed for another shirt, then stuffed that in the bag. "And I checked my weapon an hour ago."

"So? I told you not to worry."

Her other pair of boots was sitting on the floor next to Chris; she walked the few steps over, avoiding the squeaky floorboard, and picked them up, then poked her brother in the chest. "Not worry when my brother doesn't call, doesn't write and disappears off the face of the earth for a month and a half. You'd have been camped out in front of my dorm after two weeks."

"I'd have made it at least three."

"Sure you would." Claire shifted the contents of her bag and stuck the boots on the bottom. She heard Jill and David down the hall; she was late, David was annoyed. She quickly stuffed the few clothes she wasn't taking into the battered cardboard box she used for storage and scanned the room; she hadn't left anything out and neither had Rebecca. "It's only two weeks, and I'm not going alone." Leon hadn't liked that either and she'd told him to get out after he'd gotten loud.

"You should still take the rocket launcher," Chris insisted. "Trent gave us the tip. Something's going to go wrong."

She couldn't argue that point, Trent never gave them enough information. "David and John are bringing the assault rifles and grenades. And my weapon is in perfect condition."

"Yeah, yeah." He handed back the Sig; she checked the safety and slipped it into her shoulder holster. "The point is that bad things happen when you don't listen to me. You end up in Antarctica, you break your arm, you put Bill Rabbitson in the hospital - "

"That was your fault."

"If you'd been listening to me, everything would have been fine."

"All three of us would have ended up in the hospital."

"Rabbitson's your friend who worked for Umbrella, isn't he?" Jill leaned against the doorway, watching Chris. David, behind her, shot Claire a distinctly irritated look; she tried to look apologetic and didn't think it worked.

"Yeah," Chris replied, trying to sound casual. He handed her an extra pair of magazines for the Sig and she tucked them into her jacket. "Fine. Steal a rocket launcher when you get there."

"We do not need a rocket launcher," David said firmly. "Claire, are you quite ready?"

"Yes, sorry." She leaned in and hugged her brother, rewarded by a fierce hug in return. "I'll see you in a couple weeks. Don't do anything stupid."

"That's my line. Be careful."

She picked up her bag and followed David downstairs to where John and Rebecca were waiting, both looking impatient, Chris and Jill behind her. Leon was nowhere to be seen, but she heard Carlos and Barry debating the merits of shotguns versus rifles in the armory. Trent's information, Trent's suggestion on how to get in; Chris was right, something was going to go wrong. They'd just have to figure out what to do about it when whatever it was happened.

"So how did Rabbitson land in the hospital?"

"Claire wasn't listening to me. Did Leon crack the encryption on the data from your last run?"

Maybe it was a good thing she'd be out of the way for a while.

\-----

She shifted on her stool, kicking her feet against the legs irritably; this timing was inconvenient, her body squashed and constricted by her unyielding skin. She leaned in to the monitor again, peering at the security footage from the residence, then gave it up to look through the stack of photographs on her desk. 

She hadn't seen any of them yet, not even a soldier Claire might have sent as a scout. She thought perhaps the drone would have been better bait, and then someone moved briskly into view on the screen. The woman moved more like the soldiers than the others did, aware of her surroundings and managing to keep her back to cameras she shouldn't know were there, and the girl watched her avidly, tapping her fingers impatiently on the monitor. The swinging ponytail was the right color, the woman was the right height, and it was almost four minutes before she slipped and showed her face to a camera. 

The girl made a small excited sound. Claire had come herself. She leaned in to study her; there were faint lines around her eyes and mouth marking suspicion and distrust as she watched Abbadie's soldiers, that vanished into a blandly inoffensive expression as one of them glanced at her. She turned her back to the camera again as another woman came up beside her. The girl quickly sorted through photographs, identifying a soldier. Claire hadn't brought any drones, then, but that was all right; it would be fun to study Claire alone for a while. Even thinking of the proper experiments and the order in which to conduct them would be entertaining while she waited to collect her.

She'd let Abbadie have his war soon.


	2. Chapter 2

Mika let go of Claire's hand and tried to run across the room to her mother; the seven-year-old's leg wasn't up to it, and she settled for hobbling as quickly as she could. Claire rubbed her temples, letting the little girl get to her mother and chatter at her, before following her; the older woman was holding a coughing baby and some medicine, and looked thoroughly worn-down. She told her Mika had been very good (she'd hardly cried at all when Rebecca had cleaned and stitched her leg) and told her what Rebecca had said about taking care of the wound before giving her the antibiotics Dr. Marchand had prescribed earlier. The woman nodded tiredly, and Claire wished there was something more useful she could do; she couldn't fix the power or the water or the politicians. She cooed briefly over the baby, bringing a little bit of a smile to the older woman's face, and then went back to help Rebecca clean up; they'd been the last patients of the day.

"So was it the gangrene that set you off last night?"

Claire grimaced, the nightmare bubbling back up in bits and pieces; Brad Vickers staggering through a corridor, Leon disappearing, Sherry disappearing, Irons laughing like a madman in his crazy room and the door locked behind her. She took a few deep breaths and the images faded, but not the steady pounding of the headache she'd had since she woke up. "Probably." Gangrene smelled like zombies and combined with general stink it smelled too much like Raccoon or Rockfort. "What were you dreaming about?"

Rebecca looked down at the table and scrubbed it unnecessarily violently. "I don't remember."

"You don't need to freak, we all have nightmares." She rinsed the sink. "Besides, you talk in your sleep."

"We should get moving, David hates waiting." Rebecca hurried out the door, making Claire rush to grab both their jackets and catch up. One of these days she was going to figure out what Rebecca's problem was. Some day when she didn't have a headache, anyway.

They didn't talk much on the way, mostly about the medical NGO they were working with; Rebecca didn't think it was going to last much past this job, and Claire wasn't sure it was going to make it that long. Ellen Carrell, the team leader, and Dr. Marchand fought constantly, though she couldn't quite catch what about, and nobody was willing to fill them in; Dr. Tsamis was thoroughly irritated at getting a combat medic instead of a real doctor. She was the only person without medical training, though she could do basic first aid and more importantly, translate enough for working purposes for Rebecca. One of the nurse-practitioners had helped her out with vocabulary and some of the trickier oddities of local grammar.

"You okay with this? Because if you keep having nightmares - "

"You have at least as many nightmares as I do. Did you ever get back to sleep last night?"

"Eventually." Rebecca detoured around a pile of rubble and eyed the building it had fallen from warily; the windows had been blown out and the entire front was scorched and marked with bullet holes. Most of the buildings along this street weren't in any better shape, some with bloodstains. Lots of bloodstains. "And that's - "

"That is completely the point. You're the medic."

They turned the corner to the meeting place. The tiny restaurant, one of the only places open, was half-empty, with one table of locals, another table of aid workers, and David and John, leaving Claire feeling obscurely guilty. She dropped into a chair, noting that David was sunburned, and ordered the special and coffee for herself and Rebecca.

"How's it going?"

"Slowly," David said, sounding as uncomfortable as he looked. "We've been salvaging material from ruined buildings."

"Managed to get a couple places habitable, but not by much."

Rebecca nodded. "I feel like I'm just treading water. It never lets up."

"Yeah, same here," John said.

The coffee was black, bitter and strong; Chris would have loved it. Probably not the fish in some kind of spicy, rich sauce, though, or the fragrant rice served with it. They discussed the news, what there was of it; everybody was on edge in David's group also, and there were persistent rumors of trouble. Nobody agreed on who was going to make what kind of trouble, though, or when it was going to happen.

"Did you discover anything about those ruins?"

Claire shook her head. "Everybody just says stay away, people disappear over there. Screams, bloodstains, unnatural lights, that kind of thing. Ghosts or gangs or both." The ruins were a huge complex, either the remains of the original town or a big house and outbuildings, on the southeast end of the island, and nobody wanted them poking around there. Other than under the official residence itself, they'd decided it was the most likely place for the lab in Trent's information. "I guess there used to be more left, but there was a big fire about thirty years ago and another one about fifteen years ago." 

John nodded. "I heard people got shot over there. Drug-runners, maybe." Or the old party; Claire had heard a few whispers and indirect references to them, but nobody was willing to say anything outright.

"Fifteen years ago is when the last president took power, right?" Rebecca asked.

David nodded. "Interesting timing."

Fifteen years was something besides politics; Claire couldn't figure out what, though. Any of it sounded like bad news, though.

"So did you hear those stories about big mean lizards?"

"Oh, yeah. Man-sized green monsters that could tear up cars?" It sounded like Hunters, but that was the only thing she'd heard of. None of Sherry's inside-out men, no oversized monstrosities like Mr. X or Jill's Nemesis. No zombies.

"Freaky stuff," John said lightly. "Hope we don't run into any of those."

"You and me both."

"Well, we'll be leaving shortly," David said. "If we haven't seen any monsters yet, we're hardly likely to."

David had decided searching the ruins for the lab was going to be too dangerous. It felt like a waste, but Claire wasn't inclined to argue; she could cope with a few guards, zombies and monsters, but drug-runners or lots of hostile soldiers were something else. They talked about everything else over dinner instead, the city, the war and the work they were doing; David and John's group was much less prone to serious in-fighting than theirs. They split up early to get back before curfew; David and John's group was staying nearby. Claire and Rebecca's was in the official residence, full of guards and politicians; it was going to be a big fat target if there was a civil war, and she didn't like what it said about the group. They walked quickly, avoiding guards and assholes, until they reached the street in front of the official residence, an enormous, confusing building with half-a-dozen additions in probably that many styles rambling out from a central, fortress-like building that was probably the oldest part.

"I hate this place."

"Ste. Veronique?" Rebecca sounded surprised.

Claire shook her head and gestured at the building. "That. It feels too much like all the other places."

"Oh." Rebecca squinted at the house and shrugged. "It doesn't look that bad, not like the mansion."

"I guess." She'd never seen the Spencer place. She rubbed her temples, because the coffee hadn't helped and the headache was getting worse.

"Still have that headache? Take something when we get back upstairs." 

The guard passed them through the main entrance. The small foyer was dark and utilitarian, despite faded paint and worn gilt, and the stairs were narrow; they took them up two flights and through a door into one of the additions, down a long hall to another door, and then into the hall where the NGO's rooms were. Claire stopped suddenly about halfway down, eyes caught by something on the wall. There were a bunch of what she guessed were heraldic devices arranged on the wall, the paint chipped and faded, and she wasn't even sure what had initially caught her attention. She spotted a flash of black and red, right in the very center, with a flash of very worn gilt: an eagle holding a polearm. "Ashfords. Dammit."

"What?"

"Ashford family crest. What were they doing here?" She thumped the crest in disgust and it wobbled under her hand; she looked around quickly, hoping there weren't any cameras aimed at this spot. She twisted it, carefully; it resisted and moved very grudgingly clockwise a full rotation. Claire jerked back, startled and not quite reaching for the weapon under her jacket, as something rumbled inside the wall. A few feet down, part of the wall rotated outward, stopping barely wide enough for either of them to enter; the space beyond was completely dark, the air flowing out musty and faintly damp, like a basement, but fresh enough there had to be some opening to the outside.

"Great." Rebecca sounded even less enthusiastic than Claire felt.

"Just what we needed." She pulled a penlight out of her pocket and ducked inside. Dust swirled up as Rebecca followed her and she had to pinch her nose to keep from sneezing. There was another Ashford crest on this side of the wall, without any other crests to disguise it this time; this one didn't rotate, just pushed inward, and the door closed. They stood on a small landing between two sets of steep, narrow, worn stone stairs, the one on their left leading up and the other down; both were thick with dust, but the faint air flow seemed to be coming from below. Between the musty air and the dust, nobody had used this passage in a long time. 

"Up or down?"

Voices, muffled and indistinct, passed the door; they froze in place until the voices faded. Rebecca pulled out her own penlight. "Check both," she whispered. "I'll head down, meet back here."

Claire nodded. Rebecca edged carefully down the narrow stairs, and Claire turned to the ones up. They were steep and narrow with sharp turns and a surprising lack of spiderwebs; maybe there weren't enough bugs hanging out in here for spiders to bother with. She found another door by the light leaking around the edges, and another Ashford crest on the side. Men were speaking on the other side of the door, none of them familiar, and she couldn't understand anything through the wall. The air got mustier as she went up, past another door she didn't risk opening, even though she couldn't hear anything on the other side. The stairs ended at a larger landing than the others, with an old wooden door with a doorknob.

No light came around the door. The dust was as thick and undisturbed here as everywhere else. She listened at the door, heart thumping, and didn't hear anything. 

She turned the knob and pushed, then shoved; the door grudgingly opened, shapes looming out of the darkness in the small square room as she scanned it quickly with the penlight. It was stuffed full of old furniture - a wardrobe, a desk, a lot of old chairs, some empty picture frames, even a bed frame leaning up against the wall - and had another door leading further in on the other side. The wardrobe was empty; a loaded key-ring and scraps of paper were in a drawer of the desk. She took the keys - if dealing with Umbrella bases had taught her anything it was never to pass up keys - and checked the door; no light seeped around its edges either. This time it was locked with an old-fashioned lock. Jill could probably have opened it in seconds; Claire rummaged through the key-ring, trying likely-looking keys, until she felt it give. It probably wasn't important if someone had just dropped the keys outside.

This had been a study or a lab or something, bookshelves on the sides and a long, empty table in the center. The books were all ancient with flaking leather bindings and mostly illegible titles; the few she could make out were all medical and biological texts. She couldn't make out anything through the dust on the table with the penlight; there were dark splotches that could have been stains or scorch marks. There was an old desk and more shelves at the far side of the room; the books here were slim, handwritten old journals or diaries, in three or four different kinds of handwriting. The later ones were dated in the fifties and sixties, all in a firm, small, unornamented cursive; the later entries recorded progress on a new laboratory. 

_The new facility is complete. It's certainly superior to my previous laboratory, but considering the source, I've taken some precautions. Mags generously offered all the space I needed, which ought to be enough even if Spencer continues being difficult._ It went on into more detail about a particular line of research the writer was conducting, all of which went over Claire's head. Whoever it was hadn't written every day, or even every month; the diary covered a few years. She checked the one next to it; the first part was largely about the slow death of the writer's wife from some kind of degenerative disease, and there wasn't anything useful until close to the end.

 _Thea's suggested a friend from university as an assistant, since Spencer's new virus behaves so strangely._ The author went on about a paper, switching into stuff Claire hoped Rebecca understood. She tucked both diaries into her jacket and flipped through the others, none of which had anything immediately useful. She was tempted to take them anyway, just in case, but they'd bulk up her jacket too much; she settled for the other two written in the same handwriting and left the room, locking the door behind her. She locked the storeroom door too once she found the key, just in case anyone came poking around, and headed back down.

"Where the hell were you?"

"Found something," Claire whispered. "You?"

"Back door."

She followed Rebecca down the stairs, past two more landings with doors and occasional voices from beyond them. Still no spiders until they got to the bottom, where Rebecca had cleared away a fair number of webs. The air was much fresher, and this time there was a peephole. There was an overgrown park or something just outside, with no one visible. No voices, either. She pressed the crest, and the door rotated open, just enough to get through, and they stepped outside, just in time to hear voices. The light was blinding after the darkness inside, and Claire squinted and blinked furiously. Rebecca ducked out toward the exterior corner while Claire searched for the crest, muttering about stupid obsessive Ashfords until she found the weathered crest at the side. It resisted her push at first, then gave way. The voices, speaking in slangy French too fast for Claire to catch more than a few words, came closer as the door slowly, grudgingly closed and she pulled the overgrown weeds aside to keep them from being caught in the cracks. It closed, finally, the slight crack along the edges disguised in the wall.

Rebecca turned to walk back into the park or whatever it was, scuffing up the grass, and almost tripped over something. She knelt down, pushing grass aside to reveal a worn stone. "Old cemetery."

Claire figured none of the stones would be legible and walked around the cemetery, scuffing her feet, trampling weeds, and hopefully muddying the trail enough it wouldn't be obvious where they'd come out of, then walked to the back of the cemetery. The view was spectacular, the ground falling sharply away to a rough, rocky beach with the light from the setting sun lighting a path across the water; the breeze was great, especially after the dusty passage. "Can you read that?"

"Not really, it's pretty worn."

"Then check out this view." The voices were almost on them, and Claire turned around just as the team leader and a man she didn't recognize came around the corner. They both stopped, then the man stepped around the corner before she got a good look at him. 

"What are you doing out here?" Ellen Carrell demanded.

"Getting some air," Rebecca said. "Besides, I like old cemeteries. Do you know how old this one is?"

"Oh," Carrell said, sounding relieved. "This? I think it dates back to the late eighteenth or early nineteenth century, the original settlers." She walked across to one of the stones, brushing weeds out of the way, peering at it. "Yes, early nineteenth century. Anyway, you ought to get inside before curfew. If you have time after work, perhaps you should visit the history museum in town instead of socializing and wandering about."

"That could be interesting," Rebecca said, and turned to Claire. "Come on, I'm beat."

"This was your idea," Claire grumbled, and followed her.

"You were griping about being shut-in."

The path here was gravel, making it less obvious that they hadn't come this way. The man was standing in the shadow of the building, making it impossible to see his face, talking quietly on a cell phone; Claire doubted she'd have understood anyway and didn't break stride. There'd been a shift change, and the new guard just yelled at them for cutting it too close to curfew before he passed them through; if they compared notes, it would be obvious something was up, but for now they were clear to head back upstairs to the room they were sharing. It had one openable window, bare dirty plastered walls with lighter patches where things had been removed, a few pieces of battered old furniture and musty sheets on the one double bed. It still wasn't any worse than the places they'd been staying since December.

"I hope you found something useful."

Claire took the journals out of her jacket and sorted through them, finding the relevant spot in the last one before handing them over. "Yeah."

Rebecca read, frowning as she slowly flipped pages. "I can't figure out what he was doing. Something completely different from Marcus and his stupid leeches." She took the previous journal and read through it while Claire started from the beginning. The author hadn't bothered writing down his name or anything, but he mentioned repairs to the Rockfort house, visiting family somewhere on the Continent, and an increasingly unstable political situation. He had to be an Ashford, talking about that house and Spencer and all, but he didn't sound like a raving nutcase. Maybe Alexia and Alfred had gone crazy all on their own.

"These aren't his real research notes, just some quick notes when he wasn't in the lab." Rebecca wrapped the journals tightly in a sweater and packed them at the bottom of her bag. "Were there any more?"

"Plenty, but those were the only ones in that handwriting." Claire shrugged. "I couldn't tell much with the light, but I think the others were earlier."

Rebecca sighed and flopped down on the bed. "Did you get a look at that guy from the cemetery?"

Claire shook her head. "You?"

"No." Rebecca sighed. "It's a good thing we're leaving soon."


	3. Chapter 3

The girl ground her teeth. Abbadie hadn't waited, Abbadie wasn't following the plan, and now everything had to be done too fast or Claire would get away. She had sent her soldiers out but Abbadie had moved first. That wasn't right, she'd have to think of something appropriate for Abbadie, but she had to get Claire first. The soldiers, too, but they wouldn't leave her, she could wait. Or they'd come to find her, that would be convenient. It would be dangerous, they'd be armed, but she had more soldiers.

She had seen Claire working, seen the way workers and drones and even soldiers reacted to her. Mother hadn't had time to experiment on her, so she didn't understand why that was happening. 

She could run tests and experiments, maybe it was a side effect from even minor exposure - she could ask. The thought made her stop, stare blankly at the security monitors. She could ask Claire, about the drones, why she even had a colony, about Mother. Claire might not answer, might not tell her what she needed to know, but she could ask, she'd never had anyone to ask before.

The girl laughed suddenly. This was going to be so much fun.

\-----

Rebecca thrashed, searching for the handle, it had gone dark suddenly, she couldn't understand the self-destruct and where was Billy? - Claire muttered uneasily next to her and Rebecca woke up completely, shaking off the nightmare. Her cell phone rang again and she scrabbled in the dark for it.

"David?"

"Evacuate immediately," he ordered. "We've had warning of an imminent attack, possibly a coup attempt. This group is being evacuated to the Embassy."

"Right, we're moving." She told him briefly that they had a potential escape route and hung up, then shut off the phone.

She shook Claire all the way awake, warned her, and threw on her clothes, stuffing everything else into her bag, then checked her weapon and stuffed her spare mags into her jacket pocket. Claire had been doing the same. There were voices outside in the hall suddenly, groggy and confused-sounding; Rebecca moved quietly over to the door and listened, but didn't hear anything that sounded dangerous and nodded to Claire before she opened the door. Three or four of the team members were huddled in the hall.

"There's been a threat of a coup," Claire said. "We need to evacuate immediately. Grab everything you can carry and move."

"Move where? The doors locked just now," one said.

"Threat - where did you hear this? If there's going to be fighting - "

"It's going to be right here. Start waking up the others," Rebecca ordered.

"I'll get that, you get the door. Come on, we don't have much time. Shut your cell phones off."

Rebecca didn't wait for them to answer and hurried down the hall to the heraldry display. If there were cameras here, they were completely screwed. Where was the damn thing, she didn't know what it looked like - Claire had hit something around the middle - she scanned the crests, time slipping away. She spotted something heavily worn and pushed it, then twisted it clockwise when it wobbled until the door opened. If anyone knew about this, if they saw - no time, staying here wasn't going to work either, they were sitting ducks. She hurried back to the others, heart racing. Claire had hauled everyone out except Carrell, who was apparently missing. Everyone was talking confusedly, several of them eyeing Claire and muttering about her weapon.

"I'll take point. It's not soundproof, so be quiet and follow me."

She flicked on the penlight as she slipped into the passage. She couldn't tell if there were any new disturbances in the dust. The air wasn't as stale and she hoped it was just because they'd opened the damn doors. No signs of light below. She started down the stairs, cautiously, hearing Claire herding the others behind her. They shut up fast, too busy concentrating on not tumbling down the stairs to talk, a few pulling out their own small lights when Claire closed the door behind them. She froze on the first landing for a second, hearing shouting voices coming down the hall, then moved on as the voices went past without pausing. More voices and shouting at the next landing, no gunfire.

She hissed for a stop well before they reached the bottom. She couldn't make out much through the peephole, but that was good, it meant nobody out there with lights. She couldn't hear anything, either, but she probably wouldn't. She took a deep breath and pushed the crest, opening the door. Nobody shouted or yelled, she didn't hear guns cocking or engines running. After a couple of seconds she drew her weapon and stepped outside.

The cemetery was empty. No lights. She edged toward the corner. Idling engines, not too close. No voices. Rebecca glanced around the edge of the building. The street was empty, the vehicles she could hear out of sight, and no one was patrolling here. The few windows facing them on the next building were on the second-story, but dark, empty and apparently closed; she didn't see any light spilling out the back, over a yard of some kind. She moved back and called the others out; they couldn't hide inside the walls for long. Or hang around afterward.

"Clear out of here first, then work around," Rebecca said, and remembered that David hadn't said which Embassy. The American was the only one they could get to, the others were on the other side. "I'll scout."

Claire nodded and closed the door after herself, careful to pull the weeds out of the crack before it closed. "Right." She moved to the outside corner, weapon ready.

Rebecca surveyed the area, found it clear, and ran across the alley. Unfenced yard, some sort of garden, no dogs, no noises. No lights at the back door. She held up a hand for everyone to stay put and checked out the area. Still no dogs or noises, the next building was dark and closed-up too. Nobody lurking in the yard or the narrow space between the buildings. Looked like a blockade at the end of the street in either direction, nothing immediately here, nobody patrolling between them. She hurried back and gestured to Claire, who sent the others over in small groups. Rebecca ordered the first group to watch the other side and the rest to get back and stay down.

They'd almost made it when gunfire - first short, sharp bursts then sustained firing, small explosions that might be grenades - broke out on the far side of the residence. No one was down here yet - Rebecca gestured at Claire and the last group ran across in a brief silence. 

"Same thing - I scout, you keep watch."

"Sure, you get to have all the fun."

"Yeah, sure I do." Rebecca moved out. At least there weren't any dogs, and anyone in these buildings must be lying low. She made it safely to the next street and listened intently. The gunfire was still well behind her, nothing to the sides, and no nearby vehicle noises or voices. The street curved here, hiding the blockade she'd seen from immediate view, at least on this side. Probably not on the other, but they'd have to risk it. She gestured for the others to come up.

There was a boom like a crack of thunder, a blast of heat and light, the sharp sound of cracking and breaking windows. Rebecca dove into the shadows and looked back, checking herself quickly for broken glass. Reflected firelight, a lot of it, but whatever had blown wasn't visible from here. The gunfire picked up, sustained high-rate firing, more weapons than before. The others came up fast, nothing would hear them over that. No time to wonder what was happening. She edged out into the street, the blockade still blocked from view. No voices, no nearby engines. She took the chance and ran across, ducking into the shelter of the nearest building. Still no voices, no engines audible over the continuing gunfire; she peered round the building to check the blockade, just visible from this position.

The two soldiers were staying in the flickering light from the streetlight, facing the official residence instead of the sides, stupid but good for her, their night vision would be shot. She couldn't make out what they were carrying in detail, probably assault rifles and handguns, one had his hand raised as if he had a radio. He put it down, and she watched them, gesturing for Claire to send the others when they were distracted or not looking this way. They made it without incident for once. Rebecca moved ahead to scout, the noise from whatever had happened diminishing slowly as she did; this block followed the long curve of the street, keeping them out of sight longer. The space widened, with an alley between two houses that might lead somewhere.

Another barricade. Soldiers still in the streetlight, but patrolling, looking down the cross streets part of the time.

"I'll scout the alley," Claire whispered, and slipped quietly away, to return too quickly. "Dead end."

"Damn." Rebecca glanced at the blockade again. "We're going to need - "

The gunfire changed rhythm and intensity, all wrong. Something had gone wrong, Rebecca didn't know for who, but they had to get moving fast. The soldiers at the barricade had moved to face forward, something coming from that way. Rebecca ran across and scouted - still no dogs, but they'd have to move into the alleys proper to get anywhere. The shooting behind them was wild, no pattern. The soldiers had dropped into shooting stances, focusing on something in front of them. She gestured and Claire sent the others over.

Just as Claire ran across, something screamed, a harsh high-pitched alien screech that turned Rebecca's blood to water, joined by another, and another. _Hunters._ There was a lab, it had to be a big one, there was absolutely nothing they could do about it. Rebecca turned and ran ahead to scout the road, another barricade here, too close. Only two soldiers, one jeep, but they probably had backup nearby and David and John had the heavy weapons.

"We need to move before the Hunters get here," Claire hissed as soon as she ran back.

"They're too close, we'll need a distraction."

"Why aren't we asking for help?" one of the others demanded.

"Because we don't know who tried to lock us up and which side is less likely to shoot us. How many of them are there?"

"Just two. They're probably in visual range of the others."

The gunfire was dropping out, glass smashing and metal tearing behind them. "No time."

They'd have to take the chance. She took point, Claire herding the others behind her, and paused at the street. There was a quick peppering of close shots, other side of the barricade, and the streetlights went out. Rebecca ran across, hoping the soldiers' night vision was shot enough not to see them, the others stumbling noisily behind her, maybe they couldn't hear - 

Male voices, shouting. Claire ran across with Dr. Tsamis, the last. This area was filled with debris, unidentifiable in the dark, they couldn't make time. Hunter screams cut through the air, and male shouts, terrified, more gunfire, very close. Rebecca rubbed the scars on her arm where the Hunter had clawed her all those months ago, and glanced at the alley. Nobody immediately evident, but it twisted and turned, anyone or anything could be hiding in there. Claire slipped into a small shelter between the walls, the others ducking down or slipping into any cover they could find. Rebecca made her way back to the street and peered around.

The Hunter screamed again, smashed its fists on the jeep, crumpling the hood and destroying the headlights, leaving it illuminated in muzzle flashes. The soldiers were firing desperately, backing away from it, and one of them got lucky enough to rip through the heavy, muscular leg. It screamed again but didn't fall, slashed at them with one big, wickedly-clawed hand. One of the soldiers went down, the other kept shooting, and the Hunter turned and looked straight down the street at her. It lifted its head - scenting or shifting field of vision or something - then started to run down the street. Rebecca swore, drew her weapon and stepped out.

The Hunter screeched and she opened fire, the .38s not even slowing it down.


	4. Chapter 4

Claire wished like hell they'd never listened to Trent.

Assault rifles, Hunter screeching, then metal smashed and one of the rifles dropped out, heavy running footsteps and Rebecca started shooting. She hissed a warning to stay put to the others, then moved out after Rebecca. The Hunter was barely visible, a bulky shadow barely illuminated by muzzle flash, the blockade a collection of shadows past it.

"On your right," she called, moving quickly. She started firing, the Hunter not stopping, not even slowing, they were screwed. It slashed at her face, she threw herself back and to the side, bloody claws too close to her eyes. She fell hard on her shoulder, rolled up and kept shooting, it had slowed but not stopped, she was _dead_ , Chris was going to be _furious_ \- 

It screamed, clawing the air above her as she scrambled backwards. Claire pushed to her feet as another Hunter screamed, and another, getting closer, they were still totally screwed. She ejected a magazine, popped in a fresh one, and started shooting again. The Hunter turned, reluctantly, staggering back toward the soldier.

"Tell me they don't hunt in packs."

"Not thinking about that!" Rebecca switched magazines and kept shooting.

The Hunter screeched and fell again, clawing furiously at the concrete, not getting up. They kept shooting until it thrashed so violently she thought it was about to break its spine, then collapsed. They all stopped firing, staring at it warily; it didn't move. The soldier turned on a flashlight, briefly illuminating a pool of dark blood surrounding the creature, then turned it off before they lost their night vision.

Rebecca and Claire started to edge away.

The soldier called out to them rapidly in French, telling them to wait, that he wouldn't shoot.

"It might be our only chance to find out what's going on," Rebecca said. "Don't tell him anything David wouldn't. I'll keep watch."

"Okay," Claire said, and edged around the dead Hunter, moving just close enough to not have to shout. "We don't know what happened, what is happening. We heard shooting and an explosion. Is your - the other soldier - "

"Dead," the soldier interrupted, voice briefly thick. "It tore through his body armor. There are more, you can't kill them with handguns, don't go alone."

He was right, but he might not be any better. "What is happening?"

General Abbadie - she vaguely remembered the name, something to do with security - had declared himself President and was attacking the city from the north. His forces were held up around the official residence, but the soldier wasn't sure how long that would hold.

"You can't be found on the streets. Please, I will -" Engines, gunfire and Hunters screeching, very close, too close. "Go, hide!"

"You can't - " Headlights flared, almost blinding, too close, followed by Hunter screeching. "Run!"

She and Rebecca turned and bolted for the alley, the soldier right behind them. Tires screeched, there was a crash, breaking glass and crunching metal, and then even more shooting, not aimed at them. She couldn't hear running or shouting over the gunfire, rousted out the others and hurried them for the other end of the alley. Hunters screeched, much too close, it sounded like they were coming from both sides. She gripped her weapon and waited, listening as the screeching came closer, but not too close, maybe the next street over. More engines, no more crashes, a lot more shooting, men's voices shouting, all from where the original blockade had been. More Hunter screeching, men screaming, the shooting turning chaotic, more shouting, the shooting settling into a steady rhythm again.

The soldier was listening intently. Rebecca gestured briefly, Claire nodded, and the medic slipped off to scout out a retreat. They were probably less than a mile from the Embassy if they could find a way there, if the soldier didn't interfere - too many ifs to worry about right now.

"The blockade was destroyed," Rebecca whispered. "We should go while they're distracted."

Claire nodded and started to slip backward. The soldier caught her arm.

"Stay hidden."

She shook herself free. "We need to take these people to safety."

"What - " he glanced toward the shooting. "I'll scout and see who the combatants are."

"Wait. What were you supposed to do with anyone you found outside?"

He moved forward without answering, which said she didn't want to find out. Rebecca moved out in the lead and Claire herded the others after her, hoping they could get clear before he came back. One of the Hunters screamed, then there was only one Hunter, and then there were none and the shooting stopped. Her ears were still ringing, but she could make out male voices as she moved forward. A pair of soldiers were sprawled in the road, the light just enough to show one of them had been nearly gutted; her stomach roiled. She kept moving, listening intently behind her, only to hear the soldier calling, quiet but audible, just as they reached the alley. She turned, walked a little sideways, trying to keep an eye out for him without tripping over anything.

He showed up just as the others made it into the alley, two more people with him. She hissed at them to move as the men moved across the street, one of them was big, John's size and shape, familiar - she hoped she wasn't imagining things.

"What the fuck are you doing?" one of them, a stranger, snapped. She couldn't see him well, he was stocky and average height with a Chicago accent and carried what was probably an assault rifle.

"Who are you?"

"I asked you a goddamned question."

The local soldier intervened hastily. "Stop going off on your own. You can't kill those creatures and the counter-revolutionaries would overwhelm you. These people were with the construction team and they say he's an American soldier."

"We're with a medical group, we're trying to reach the Embassy," she said. "Who started shooting?"

"Yeah, if you were doing that you'd just use the damn streets," the other snapped. "How many weapons did you smuggle in, Redfield?"

She heard someone moving behind her and hoped it was Rebecca. The local soldier was looking between her and the American. "Who are you talking to?"

"How many weapons?" the man demanded.

"Don't think we got introduced," John's familiar voice rumbled. "So why are you acting like you know her?"

"Stop this! We need to move before more creatures or the counter-revolutionaries get here."

"Yeah, point." John turned to the American. "I don't care what crawled up your ass and died, we need to get out of here." He turned to her. "We're another NGO, we did construction work. Probably better to get our groups combined - there's at least two more of those freaky things around."

There was no way they could handle two more Hunters. She wasn't sure she could handle one, either, and she'd definitely rather have David and John around - well, she assumed David was there, she couldn't ask. "Fine, okay. We'll hole up just ahead and wait for you." She heard someone moving off behind her. 

The soldier looked at her indignantly even before John translated, and she wondered how much English he knew.

"I told you this and you tried to sneak away. Now you listen to him?"

"Later," John said, then in English. "Get everybody together and we'll catch up."

"Right," Claire said, and moved backwards into the alley. 

She heard John collecting the other two, nobody following, not yet. Rebecca and the others were waiting, crowded and nervous, not far ahead, spilling around an intersection in the alley. They discussed it quickly, unable to talk about John and David with the others listening, focusing mostly on the Hunters and that they probably couldn't outrun them. They got the others moving while they were still muttering about why they hadn't done this first, Rebecca taking point and Claire bringing up the rear. 

The nervewracking part was the waiting, listening to gunfire that wasn't far enough away and the group muttering nervously; once she heard a Hunter screech, the sound distant but still not far enough away. On another island would be far enough away, maybe. She heard people moving, not too quietly, no engines, heard someone coming up the alley. David hissed a warning and she relaxed slightly as he came around with a female American soldier and the local soldier. She couldn't make out more than that.

The American was Tallant. John and the other American, Finch, were up front getting the groups coordinated.

"We're a bit more than a half-mile from the Embassy," David finished, and held out one of the assault rifles. "Can you use this?"

She nodded and took the weapon, checking the magazine and then slinging it carefully over her shoulder. They were going to be in deep shit once they made it to the Embassy and Trent probably wouldn't get them out of it, either.

"Ah, there's the signal," David said. "Move out."

Even trying to be quiet, they could probably be heard a block or more away, and the streets felt exposed; Claire kept expecting something to leap out at them from every opening or sneak up on them from behind. The gunfire got both louder and more chaotic, she wasn't sure if it was moving closer to them or they were moving closer to it, and there was definitely more Hunter screeching, maybe more than the two she'd been expecting. Tallant radioed to find out why the hell they were moving so slow, Finch bitched at her, and Claire still didn't know how he knew who she was, or at least her name. The pace picked up, not as fast as she was hoping. The Hunters screeched again, close and getting closer, at least three of them again, and it still sounded like they were talking.

"More of those things," Tallant said grimly.

David asked if the other soldier had ever seen them before.

He was silent after Claire translated, then said abruptly, "The old government let them loose during the revolution. They tore people apart so badly you couldn't tell if they'd eaten them too. A few were killed, most just disappeared."

She got a little bit more out of him. During the revolution, the creatures been able to work together well enough to herd people into traps - terrorize them into running into a small area where other Hunters were lurking - and come running when another Hunter signaled they'd found something or they were being attacked. 

Everyone went silent as the sound of gunfire and Hunters got louder. Claire caught a glimpse of another trashed barricade ahead, then saw what was left of the bodies when she passed it and felt sick. The soldier - he still hadn't told them his name - made a small choked noise and kept moving. Tallant spoke briefly over the radio, and a few minutes later they reached the Embassy's street, Tallant and Finch coordinating with somebody inside as they approached the Embassy itself, a battered stone building that looked like it could survive another war.

David slipped back to stand between her and Tallant as the others moved steadily into the Embassy, the local soldier standing closer to them than to Tallant. She could just make out Rebecca and John up front, possibly waiting for them. The gunfire and the Hunters were moving closer.

Something broke nearby, followed by breaking glass and more smashing, maybe wood, followed by footsteps. Big, heavy footsteps with cracking noises, like the road was breaking. She knew Rebecca heard it too, saw her and John start practically throwing people into the Embassy, ignoring both Finch and whoever was inside. David raised his rifle and shifted into ready position, watching the street carefully, and Claire followed his lead.

"Keep moving," she hissed, amazed her voice wasn't shaking. "Get inside." It had to be something like Mr. X, she didn't think they could take one down even with all four of them shooting at it. Those walls were solid, maybe they'd slow it down, maybe the Embassy had better weapons - Claire shook it off, remembering Chris telling her not to get stuck in ifs and second-guessing or she'd die, or other people would die. They'd get the others inside first, then they'd go in, and then they'd figure out what next.

Nobody argued this time, hurrying to get inside, not quite panicking. The footsteps got closer with metal crunching and glass shattering as if it had walked over a car.


	5. Chapter 5

Tyrant, it had to be a Tyrant. Rebecca pushed the civilians to move faster. Fifteen. Wood cracked and broke and it didn't even pause. Ten. More shattered glass and crushed metal, it was close too close. Five. David, Claire and the two soldiers were moving in with the last civilians.

"Get down!"

Rebecca knocked down the last civilians and dropped just before the gunfire started. Semi-automatic, probably some kind of assault rifle, David or John would probably know, at least the thing didn't have a rocket launcher like the one Jill had faced in Raccoon. Three - no, four - weapons firing in response.

"Crawl for the door!" she shouted, pushing the nearest person toward the door. "Hurry!"

She propped herself up and braced her assault rifle as the civilians crawled past her. There was shouting behind her, Finch yelling into his radio, and she couldn't see the shooter, maybe it was human and the Tyrant wasn't here yet. The last civilian made it past her. More shouting, soldiers coming out of the Embassy.

One dropped down next to her. "One shooter, can't figure out why they haven't taken him down. Get inside, we'll deal with him."

Rebecca stared at him and started to shout back, not sure what she was going to say, probably a variant on 'are you crazy?'. Then the Tyrant stepped into view. It was huge, maybe eight feet tall, solid muscle, the weapon it was carrying practically looked like a toy in its oversize hands, she couldn't figure out how it even pulled the trigger. She shook herself back to the moment, this was no time to worry about that. It was wearing a long coat and when it moved light flickered through dozens of bullet holes.

Finch moved across to join the other Embassy soldiers, who moved into a careful grouping and opened fire. John gestured and Rebecca followed him ahead to where they had a clear line of fire. David and Claire were pinned down, they were shooting so probably not injured. She and John started shooting, it didn't even notice. Then it stopped shooting, roared something incomprehensible over the gunfire from the Embassy guards, and ran at David and Claire, she had to stop firing to avoid hitting them as they scattered. The Tyrant swiped at something and missed, enormous fist smashing into the wall. More shooting, somebody was still alive over there, a few of the Embassy soldiers were moving, trying to get a clear shot probably. Two figures ran out around the Tyrant, David and Tallant, hurrying quickly toward them. Tallant moved behind them, out of the line of fire to the other guards and David dropped down next to her.

"Don't shoot, impossible to get a clear shot from here. Claire couldn't get around it."

She nodded, and waited, trying not to tense up. The Tyrant stumbled, figures ducked out around it low to the ground, two on each side, it swiped casually at the ones on her right and knocked one of them sprawling. The other was shooting, the fallen figure - Rebecca squinted, it was definitely Claire - trying to get up, the shooter stopped firing and dodged when the Tyrant swiped at him. Claire got up, unsteady, the other one supported her and they ran to the side, ducking into something - an alley maybe - and the guards opened fire. David rose up to one knee and started firing also, and Rebecca followed suit.

The Tyrant turned in the direction Claire had run. She kept firing, hoping Claire was safe. The Tyrant hardly seemed to notice even while the steady fire shredded its coat, she couldn't see any wounds on its body. It turned suddenly, she saw a blur of motion to one side, Claire and the soldier had come around a different way and ran right past it toward them. Rebecca felt herself grinning in spite of herself, in relief, even as Claire and the soldier dropped down next to David and started shooting. The Tyrant screamed again and started toward them, then it staggered, fell to one knee, then fell on its face. Rebecca held fire as David stopped shooting, keeping her weapon trained on the prone Tyrant. The Embassy guards stopped firing and got up; Rebecca couldn't hear what they were talking about over the ringing in her ears. They split up, one group coming over to them.

"Hand over your weapons," Finch ordered.

"It's not dead," Rebecca protested.

"Yeah, sure it isn't."

The Tyrant's hands twitched and moved, sliding back as if it was about to push itself up. Finch swore unimaginatively and the Embassy guards disarmed them and took their bags anyway before herding them inside. She looked back over her shoulder and saw the Tyrant stagger to its feet right before they slammed the door behind them. They were quickly separated, Claire and Rebecca in one room with a guard outside and the others somewhere else; the chairs were battered wood and there was no table, and only a flickering overhead light. Claire was pale and sweaty, sitting very stiffly.

"What's your condition?"

"Just a cracked rib." Claire managed a smile. "Nothing else is broken, but I'll be one big bruise in a few hours. What happened to it?"

Rebecca was not convinced, the way Claire was sitting suggested there might be something wrong with her back, but there was nothing she could do about it now. "It got up, but I didn't see what happened to it after that."

"Of course it did," Claire grumbled. "Did anyone else get hurt?"

Rebecca shook her head.

She couldn't hear anything that sounded like a bioengineered monstrosity beating down a door, or a wall, or the kind of shouting she expected to hear if that was happening. There wasn't anything else they could talk about with the guard right there, so they just sat in silence for a while. There wouldn't be anything incriminating in their bags besides the journals Claire had found, and it wasn't likely anyone would know where those came from. 

They'd been waiting long enough for Rebecca to wish for a bathroom when the guard opened the door again. Claire was ushered out, leaving Rebecca alone. Interrogation, get each of them alone and compare stories. She wished they'd had a chance to compare notes with David, come up with a plan. She hadn't come up with anything more useful than 'don't tell them about the others' before it was her turn to be ushered out and herded into a small, bare room with cold metal folding chairs, a battered card table, and two Marines.

"How many meetings did you have with Matthieu?"

Rebecca looked at him blankly, trying to figure out who Matthieu was - neither of the doctors, maybe somebody in David and John's group.

"Your contact."

Did Trent actually have a first name? They weren't even sure Trent was a real name and not an alias he'd cooked up for their benefit.

"The guy who bought your weapons."

It took another few seconds for it to click, and then she remembered Finch talking about smuggling. Gun-running, that was what they were being accused of. Probably just mistaken for actual gun-runners, Umbrella wasn't any good at simple, practical plans. She still didn't know who Matthieu was. They kept asking her questions about the supposed gun-running and she didn't answer, deciding that keeping her mouth shut was her best option.

Eventually they gave up for the moment, by which time she was hungry, thirsty and really needed to pee. She did get escorted to the bathroom, at least, and then to what looked like a storage room hastily modified into a cell. Claire was already sitting on one of the two cots, looking a little less pale and shaky than she had earlier.

"You okay?"

"They checked me out and gave me some painkillers. It might be broken instead of cracked."

It didn't matter much, there wasn't anything she could do right now. "Learn anything?"

Claire shook her head. "I started laughing when they - " she glanced at the door - "when they started flinging accusations. Then my side hurt too much to think or pay much attention."

"Me either."

They were given MREs and water a little later, and then Rebecca urged Claire to get some rest. The Tyrant wasn't dead; they might as well get some rest before it showed up again.


	6. Chapter 6

Claire jerked upright at the scream, then hissed at the pain flaring through her side and back, barely aware of much else. After a moment, the pain subsided somewhat, enough she could think past it, and she turned carefully to swing her legs down to the floor. No more screams, but a lot of shouting and bursts of distant gunfire, and a distant steady pounding. Like a Tyrant trying to smash its way through a wall. Rebecca got up and checked the door.

"Still locked," the other woman said unnecessarily. "How much pain?"

"I could use an aspirin."

"You and your _brother_."

"Says the woman who insisted on going through with Utah with a concussion and a bullet in her ass."

Even Jill couldn't pick a lock from the wrong side of the door, they didn't have tools and the hinges were on the other side, and the door looked pretty sturdy; she wasn't sure they could have beaten it down even if she was in better shape. The walls were pretty solid, too, not drywall or partitions or anything. No alarms to pull and they probably weren't connected to the door lock anyway, it sounded like a normal key lock, not an electronic one.

"You remember what kind of lock that was?"

"Not really."

If it was a cheap lock, they might be able to break it even if they couldn't break the door. It was just a storeroom, probably not even for anything really important. And then try to sneak past however many Marines were in the building to get their weapons, and then sneak back out into the middle of a civil war to find a lab that might be overrun with soldiers. Someone came running down the hall, she heard voices outside, and then someone pulled the door open. One Marine held an M9 on them, the other had the door. "Chambers, Redfield. Come with us."

They were escorted through the halls and up stairs to a larger, more impressive conference room, with paneled walls, a wooden floor with a patterned rug under a large, carved wood table, and lamps with glass shades. Their personal gear - no weapons - was piled on the table. David, John and the local soldier were already there, along with the two guards from earlier, what were probably senior officers, and a man in an expensive suit. The suit and the officers were conferring at one end of the table, and Claire spotted a stack of papers at one end, David's photo was at the top, there were glossy sheets below it, probably photos of all of them. The noise - shouts, occasional gunfire, the Tyrant trying to smash in the walls - was louder here than where they'd been locked up. They let her sit down, the others standing, she must look as lousy as she felt.

"David Trapp, formerly Captain of S.T.A.R.S. Exeter team. John Andrews, also formerly of S.T.A.R.S. Exeter. Rebecca Chambers, formerly S.T.A.R.S. Raccoon City. Claire Redfield." The suit picked up the top papers as he spoke, probably information on them. "And Sgt. Matthieu Tavares, Ste. Selene Army." There was a dark-haired woman next to Tavares, apparently a translator.

Tavares looked confused and angry, probably trying to figure out what was going on and how he'd gotten mixed up in it. The others were watching the suit warily; Claire couldn't read him at all, or the senior officers, and glanced at the guards, Finch and Tallant and the ones who brought her and Rebecca, two more who'd probably brought the guys. They looked bored, mostly, Finch was pissed, and none of them probably had much more of a clue what was going on than she did. 

"Three of you Americans are officially suspended from S.T.A.R.S. and all of you are officially missing. Your respective NGOs report that you were actually performing the duties you signed on for, none of which require any kind of weapons. What were you doing here and who are you working for?"

They were screwed, at least Chris and Leon and the others weren't here, they might get clear. Except they couldn't warn them without giving them away. She didn't know what was going to happen, if they'd be deported or handed over to whoever controlled Ste. Selene; maybe they'd just disappear or 'die' in the fighting. She hoped Chris didn't come looking for her, it would just be a trap.

David studied the suit, then mentioned the tip about the lab, without mentioning where it came from, and apparently repeated himself advising the use of heavy weapons on the Tyrant. The suit ignored that and kept asking about the lab, where they thought it was and why they hadn't already gone in. David was getting increasingly terse, managing not to actually snap or give away the others or Trent, the pounding sound got worse and so did the shouting, and Claire wished the suit would shut up and let David figure out how to handle it. Or John, or even her and Rebecca, they had enough experience between the two of them to come up with a plan and carry it out.

One of the officers walked over to her, big muscular guy, standing over the chair looking down at her.

"Ma'am, where is Ellen Carrell?"

Claire shook her head, startled by the question. David was busy with the suit, but John nodded slightly at her. "I don't know, she wasn't there when we evacuated."

"Were any others members of your group missing?"

She recounted in her head. "No, everyone else was there." 

"When was the last time you saw her?"

"I'm not sure. Probably around dinner."

"Did you search for her?"

"We couldn't, we'd been locked in."

She didn't know who'd locked them in or why, she didn't know where Carrell might have gone and suggested one of the doctors might know. She'd had to worry about getting everyone out and to the Embassy in one piece, she hadn't had time to worry about Carrell. She hadn't had much to do with her, either, mostly she'd dealt with the nurses. She was probably talking too much, giving them information they could use against her, as if they needed anything else.

"How many secret passages are there in the residence?"

She stared at him. "What?"

"Ma'am, your organization reported that you and Agent Chambers led them out of the residence through a secret passage."

She should have figured they'd talk about that. "I don't know, we weren't even looking for one."

"Then what were you looking for?"

"Nothing. I got annoyed and punched the wall."

"You punched the wall and found a secret passage."

Claire shrugged, her attention briefly diverted back to David as the suit passed him a few papers. "I got lucky." Lucky to remember the Ashford crest, lucky to figure out how it worked and open up the passage two days before everything went to shit. Lucky the Ashfords had always been obsessed with secrets.

The suit gestured the officers over for a brief conference. Whatever he said, they didn't like it, but they sent Finch and Tallant out briefly. They returned quickly, laden with their personal weapons, unloaded, but with the ammunition held separately, and handed them out; Finch was even more pissed and Tallant wasn't happy either. Claire strapped her shoulder holster back on as the suit started speaking.

"Captain Trapp, you and your team are the only people here with any experience with these creatures. I'm asking - "

"What happens if we are successful?"

"None of you are officially wanted by either our government or the Ste. Selene government, so I would have neither authority nor reason to hold you."

That wouldn't stop him. Everybody knew it. And maybe it didn't matter, if they didn't take out the Tyrant things would get ugly and people would die. Probably all of them, it wasn't likely to be looking for random Marines or the Ambassador. And anybody who got in its way. She loaded the Sig and holstered it. They were screwed no matter what. Maybe David had a better plan for breaking out of an Embassy full of Marines than she'd come up with.

"I need access to the heaviest weapon you have," David said. "Where is the creature now?"

She stood up carefully, pain still flaring up from her back and rib, and joined the others as they hurried out of the room. They'd been ordered to hold fire until they found something effective for use on the Tyrant. It was trying to beat down a wall, ignoring the nearby door. There'd been a Hunter sighted, but it had evaded fire and disappeared. They were led through different corridors and down stairs again.

"Claire, how fast does it move?"

"Fast," Claire said, and realizing how unhelpful that was, elaborated, "Race-level sprints, I don't know how long it can keep that up. It hits a little slower, not enough to matter."

"Distraction?"

She shook her head. "They can't focus on anything except their target." The trick she'd used on Mr. X wouldn't work here. Carlos had shot up Nemesis while it was chasing Jill once, he hadn't been able to kill it though. "Unless it's chasing someone while someone else shoots."."

Finch shot her a dark look. Claire ignored him as they came round a corner into a hall the Marines had apparently been using to monitor and shoot at the Tyrant.

"That may not be necessary." David moved cautiously to a window as another Marine arrived with a grenade gun. "John, can you make the shot?"

John hefted the grenade gun and moved to David's side. "Yeah."

"Good. Torso and leg shots. Once it's down, try for a headshot. Claire, Rebecca, keep watch."

She moved to a position at another window. The grenade gun was painfully loud, the Tyrant's furious screech almost as bad as its coat and skin shredded, revealing bloody red muscle. It stared upward, its face like leather badly stretched and patched together, its mouth lipless and filled with what seemed like too many too large teeth, and screeched again. John fired again, shredding what skin was left on its torso, and what was left of its coat started to twist, shredding further, something popping out. Tentacles.

Tentacles it immediately used to grab onto the windows.

"It's climbing!" she shouted.

It heaved itself up, windows cracking and breaking under its weight, one clawed hand gripping the windowsill in front of her, tentacles latching onto the window frame. She stumbled back, pulling the Sig, as the window exploded outward. John fired again, the noise deafening. The Tyrant screamed but it wasn't down, it wasn't even slowing. She raised the Sig, aimed for the eyes, and fired. The bullet hit it below the eye, ripping through its cheek and splintering teeth, reminding her suddenly of what had been left of Vickers.

Someone pulled her back as it swung at her, claws passing in front of her face. Her side screamed in pain as they grabbed her and started hauling her away from the Tyrant. She could hear shouting - clear, get clear - and realized David was yelling in her ear.

"Claire!"

"O-okay. I'm okay," she gasped, as they got behind John and dropped to the floor. John fired again, shredding the Tyrant's upper chest and shattering its lower jaw, so its mouth hung crazily askew and she could see its thick black tongue.

"Of course you are," David said, sounding entirely unconvinced. 

The Tyrant staggered under a hail of fire. Several shots tore skin and flesh from the skull, gouged the bone - or whatever it had instead of bone, bone should have shattered into a million pieces by now - and it staggered. And it stared right at her, mouth open, she couldn't hear the noise it was making, and then David pulled her back.

John fired again, the Tyrant fell, still crawling, reaching out toward her. She raised the Sig, aimed and fired. The first bullet tore through its upper teeth. The second and third found the eyes, black liquid dripping down its ruined face, ruined mouth gaping and still making that horrible gurgling noise, still trying to crawl forward. The fourth shot hit it between the eyes.

Marines dove out of the way as it thrashed violently and uncontrollably, shredding the carpet and tearing up the floor, ichor flying everywhere. Then it collapsed, fingers relaxing, body seeming to deflate, finally utterly still. 

"Good work," David said.

"What the hell do we do with it?" Finch demanded.

"Seal this area off," Rebecca said. "Assume everything here is now potentially infectious. Burn any splattered clothing. Do you have biohazard equipment?"

"No," Tallant said.

"Damn. The body should probably be burned too."

"Report it to the Major," Tallant said.

They were split up again, nobody walking through the mess around the dead Tyrant, Rebecca and John and Tavares on the other side from Claire and David. Claire followed Tallant back down the hall and down a flight of stairs; just as they reached the bottom, there was rumble that shook the floor. Tallant spoke into her radio.

"The wall it was beating on collapsed. We're to head out and around to the next door."

Tallant didn't sound happy and David didn't look happy. Claire hoped there weren't any Hunters around. There were two more Marines waiting to escort them at the exterior door, but the area wasn't well lit enough, too many shadows, and their footsteps sounded too loud. No Hunters screeched, they'd reached the door.

Someone reached out of the shadows and yanked her backward, their arm around her throat and a gun pressed to her head. David shouted, whoever it was grabbed her with their other arm, pressing hard enough on her ribs to make her cry out. It was worse when they dragged her backwards, she was sick to her stomach and almost crying from it, barely aware when they shoved her into a truck and someone inside roughly hauled her the rest of the way in, taking her weapon at the same time.

The rumble of the truck amplified the pain and she passed out.


	7. Chapter 7

Dr. Monteiro had given Claire a mild sedative and painkiller before dressing her injuries and taking samples for testing, she was sleeping quietly and the girl couldn't ask her anything for hours. All because Abbadie hadn't followed the plan, and he wasn't even winning the war.

"He's as useless as the drones the company used to send," the girl told the unconscious woman. "I might not have to get rid of him myself, he has enough enemies, but he might talk. I could test out my new virus on him, that would be fun and instructive and keep him from talking." She frowned, thinking. "Maybe I should just have him shot. Mother played games with your drone and that just made you angry. Not that Abbadie is your drone, you have better taste." Yes, she'd have him shot if he didn't start winning, she'd have to think about whether she needed it to look like someone else did it. Maybe arrange for Abbadie's enemies to think they'd done it, that would work. "I'll just have him shot. I can find another test subject when Dr. Monteiro finishes the tests." She should return to her lab, she'd have to work on adapting her new virus to Claire when the test results came. "I'll come back when you're awake, Claire."

She left the room, needing both twisted hands to work the doorknob. She hoped she shed her skin soon, it was uncomfortable and embarrassing to meet a rival queen in a out-grown, unshed skin, especially when her soldier and drones were probably planning to retrieve her.

\-----

Less than a minute. All of them armed and Claire had been snatched and gone in less than a minute.

They'd been dragged inside instead of trying to track her and apparently forgotten entirely. Rebecca sighed. They couldn't be that lucky, if they'd been forgotten there wouldn't be a guard on the door. This looked like a break room or something - a round table with battered chairs, a minifridge in the corner, old newspapers, blank paper, a pen and a pack of cards on top of the fridge. They sat at the table for lack of any other ideas, Tavares looking confused about why he kept getting stuck with them, John and David angry.

"You see that patch, David?"

"Yes."

Umbrella. There was definitely something here, but why Claire? Why take anyone, why not just shoot them - not that she wanted anyone to get shot, but she didn't like any possible reason to take one of them. "Now what?"

"Once we find out where they took her, we'll decide what to do."

Tavares spoke up in rapid French. John glanced at David, then started talking; she heard Umbrella come up multiple times.

"How severe were her injuries?"

"Cracked or broken rib, possibly a back injury, otherwise bruises and abrasions. No immediate danger." Unless Umbrella got violent. She pushed the thought away, aside from restocking her kit, there wasn't anything she could do about it until they found Claire. The Embassy probably couldn't do anything, they were here under false pretenses, it was all up to them.

David nodded. "How did you get out?"

She gave him an abbreviated version of Claire finding the passage earlier and their escape tonight after he called until they met up again, very aware of both Tavares and the guard on the door. The journals hadn't been confiscated, whoever'd searched the bag hadn't realized they were important, probably more worried about weapons and ammo. They weren't any use to them right now either.

John turned back to them. "You need to hear this."

Tavares had seen the Umbrella insignia before, during the civil war and the old president's rule. They'd been providing weapons, maybe more; they'd been rumored to provide medicine for the president and his inner circle, maybe even help dispose of his political enemies. He'd heard about people getting shot around the ruins, but he didn't know who was shooting; the smugglers he'd heard about were farther up the coast where it was easier to climb, and it was too far out for the local gangs, not enough prey out there. There wasn't much left standing to use, so he didn't think anybody'd bother being out there.

"It'll be underground." They didn't have time to deal with whatever dumb tricks Umbrella was using as a lock. "Are there any caves under the island?"

John translated and Tavares shrugged, sounding confused. "Yeah, the fishermen used to use them for shelter."

Umbrella'd used old coal mine tunnels under Raccoon as a start for building their facilities there. If they'd done something similar here, the caves might have a back entrance.

"Used to?"

"Overfished, so there's almost no fishermen left."

David shook his head. "The caves will be inaccessible without access to a boat."

Overfishing didn't have anything to do with Umbrella, at least. And they didn't know if there was anything there, if that was where Claire had been taken. If it wasn't, she didn't know where to start looking.

"Rebecca, I need an assessment of the potential for an outbreak."

"Staying out of contact with the dead Tyrant should prevent an outbreak here. T-virus is primarily transmitted by blood and saliva, not any other form of contact," she said, thinking about the scars on her arm where the Hunter had clawed her. They'd been mildly infected, not T-virus but something ordinary enough that over-the-counter antibiotic cream and careful cleaning had cleared it up within days. "Bodies killed by Hunters won't be contagious. So far, there's no evidence of a virus release, deliberate or accidental. I don't know where the lab is, who's running it, or what the conditions are."

"What about the dead Hunters?"

They'd left dead Hunters in the street. "I don't know. If nobody's touching the blood - " After what happened to Karen, they knew T-Virus could survive in dried blood for at least several days. If they didn't have biohazard gear, what did they have? "Alcohol, bleach and fire. They've got to have at least two of those here. Bleach is more effective." She stopped, thinking. Claire had dropped a Tyrant into molten metal and it hadn't been destroyed. "Crap, I don't know if they've got anything hot enough to burn the Tyrant."

There were sharp voices outside, and both David and Tavares were taken out.

"Should have punched Trent when I had the chance."

Rebecca nodded. "How long before we can get out of here and find her?"

"Fucking bureaucrats," John grumbled. "Could be a while."

Their gear - not the rest of the weapons, just their personal stuff - was returned a few minutes later, including Claire's. Rebecca pocketed the keyring Claire had found - probably useless, but you never knew with Umbrella - and took the journals out of her bag. "Claire found these. They talk about a lab, but they're old enough it might be a different lab."

"Might as well check them out," John said.

She handed him one of the journals and picked up another to search herself. They'd gone through all four by the time they were summoned upstairs, not finding much useful right now; it would be useful later to sort out a T-Virus and Umbrella chronology. The scientific notes were clearly for his own benefit, quick thoughts about potential new avenues of research, and none of the more-personal remarks helped.

"Found something," John said, and passed the journal to her.

 _Damn Spencer. That fire was entirely unnecessary; the lab isn't even half-completed and the squatters were being moved into new housing in a few months. I've arranged medical care that he can't touch for the survivors and paid for proper funerals for the dead, but all Ste. Veronique knows that was no accident. Steps must be taken._ Rebecca checked the date of the entry, a little more than thirty years ago.

"The ruins. It's got to be."

There was a sharp knock on the door and they were summoned upstairs.

\-----

Monteiro made it back to her lab with a sense of deep relief. The girl was still too wrapped up in her obsessions to have noticed anything and her plans weren't in danger yet. She glanced at the window to the test room, seeing the red light over the other door indicating it was still locked; the computer indicated no access attempts. There were dozens of rats and mice in sealed habitats in the test room, each habitat set up to allow a researcher to work with no contact, the test room itself able to be quickly sealed off from the rest of the facility.

The noises from the infirmary behind her lab were horrible, but she'd learned to block them out; horrible noises, along with grandiose schemes and insane security devices, were a constant hazard of Umbrella employment, all of which she was going to be very, very happy to leave behind. She sat down at her workstation, checking the virus sample replicating in the incubator; it was replicating very slowly, just as she wanted.

She checked over Redfield's test results again. Multiple T-Virus antibodies, more of them than she'd expected even knowing the woman had survived both Raccoon City and the Rockfort/Antarctica incident. Carolyn had been right, there had been multiple strains released when those idiots shot up Birkin's lab, and they'd almost certainly started recombining as the infection spread. She suspected the same thing had happened at the Arklay facilities, but without samples, she'd never know. The rest were standard tests, suggesting nothing particularly unusual about Redfield. Not particularly helpful right now, though it might be later.

Monteiro turned on the voice recorder, tapped the controls to release the virus into the air of the first habitat, and waited, recording time and effects at ten-minute intervals.

Nothing happened.

Half-an-hour later, well past the virus' lifespan out of a host, nothing had still happened. She was much too experienced, and possessed of much too strong a sense of self-preservation, to whoop with triumph, no matter how much she wanted to. This was her fourth test on this iteration of the vaccine; it had been ineffective after twenty-four hours, partially effective at three and five days, and now, at a week, completely effective against airborne virus. Blood tests showed they were fighting off the infection, though she hadn't developed any consistently accurate tests for viral latency.

She tested the next habitat with injections, calibrated for the approximate viral load carried in a rat bite. While she waited, she printed out copies of the dosage charts and started the back-up process for her research on the development of the vaccine and serum, then scrawled a few notes on the back of one of the dosage charts. She'd need to run back-up tests on more rodents, at least one more of airborne and injected, and a new set of tests of her anti-viral serum, but she couldn't risk much more than that, with the girl active again. It took too long to create the vaccine and serum with her inadequate equipment, not that the equipment in Raccoon itself had been much better. Umbrella's priorities had always been skewed; they had only started work on antivirals and vaccines after Arklay, and hadn't bothered to officially back up any of the research before or during the Raccoon outbreak.

She'd been peremptorily summoned back to Paris, along with Carolyn and Ian, to sort out the disjointed, heavily redacted site reports and explain the pattern and path of the outbreak.

The rats in the second habit began showing fever after ten minutes, then dragged themselves into corners and hid there, trembling, after fifteen. After twenty, their eyes were glassy and they were sprawled, twitching, though without any sign of the incessant scratching that accompanied necrosis and preceded cannibalism.

Their report had been circumspect, suggesting fleas and lice as the primary vectors after the initial spill had occurred, with a divergence on whether the disease had jumped to domestic animals first or directly to humans. They'd argued, over booze in the hotel room with a white noise generator running, whether there'd been orders to shoot up Birkin's lab and release the virus or if that had just been some trigger-happy idiot. Not that it mattered, Raccoon City was ashes either way. Ian and Carolyn had vanished within weeks, and she'd barely survived the company interrogation that was her only hope they hadn't been murdered. 

Forty-five minutes later, the the injected rats' fever had dropped and their heartrates were closer to normal; she did blood draws, finding a lower concentration of live virus than expected, indicating an at least partially successful immune response. An hour later, the rats were lethargic with mild fever and normal heartrates; viral concentrations had dropped again. She chewed her lip, considering the risks; the virus might be going latent. However, after an hour any rats that survived the cannibalism stage should have been disintegrating, necrosis destroying so much tissue that they could only lie in twitching heaps.

Even an imperfect vaccine would extend the effective window of the serum. She picked up her phone and made a call. 

\-----

Rebecca was wedged in between David and John in the back of a badly-maintained truck, across from Tavares and another Ste. Selene soldier. There was a second Ste. Selene soldier driving the truck. The fighting was contained to the official residence itself and the area around it, not anywhere near the ruins, or so the Embassy said. They hadn't heard anything about another Tyrant or more Hunters, either. Their information from the States was more reliable: there'd been a massive raid on S.T.A.R.S. headquarters in New York with arrests, possibly co-ordinated by Palmieri himself, and there were reliable reports that the President was about to resign.

She couldn't do anything about any of that right now. They were on their way to the ruins and hopefully they'd find a way in, find Claire and get back out in one piece, without any viral outbreaks or escaped bioengineered monsters. Or at least a small, contained outbreak and not many monsters. And Claire without any more injuries than she already had.

One thing at a time, she told herself as the truck rumbled to a stop and the engine shut off.

"Clear."

They slipped out of the truck to survey the area; Rebecca adjusted her borrowed pack and her rifle. Ruins was almost an understatement, an enormous mass of fallen, broken brick and stone with occasional shards of glass and random bits of metal, dangerously uneven; it took her a few moments to parse out foundations and the occasional knee-high wall. Behind that was something recognizable as a building, with partly-intact walls, stones scorched black in places with broken, charred timbers. She couldn't see or hear anyone, but there had to be guards somewhere, probably cameras somewhere along the building facing out.

Tavares was having a sharp, angry conversation with the other two soldiers. John was studying the ruins, but she was pretty sure he was listening.

"There's a path," John said. "Heads mostly left as far as I can tell, up past the wall."

"We'll avoid the path," David ordered. "Move up to the building to the right and scout from there. John, take point. I'll bring up the rear."

Tavares broke off his conversation and joined them, dropping into place behind John. Rebecca gulped, throat and mouth suddenly painfully dry. This was the first time they'd tried to break into an Umbrella facility in daylight. They moved out, brick and stone tilting underfoot, rotten wood breaking and disintegrating. A chunk of brick tumbled sideways from Tavares' boot, hit a pile of smaller rubble, and all of it suddenly disappeared down a hole. Nothing made any noise from the hole, but she was even more careful of her footing; no handy I-beams to grab here and no Billy. And no baboons, and John could haul her back up as easily as Billy had if she had anything to hold on to.

They were thirty feet from the building when Rebecca saw a flash in a window opening and John screamed for them to get down. Rebecca flung herself to the ground, made herself as small a target as possible and kept crawling forward. The flash and explosion on her left toppled her, blasted her with dust and chips of stone and brick, left her nearly blind and briefly unable to tell up from down. She scrabbled what she thought was forward, slammed and scraped the knuckles of her left hand on something, blinked tears out of her eyes as her vision started to return.

Tavares pulled John up, David moved forward with him and they all ran, stumbling and halting, toward the wall, shouts that sounded like they were underwater coming from somewhere. John ran on his own, pointed at a dark spot on the wall. Closer, it was a gap, John squeezed through then gestured for the rest of them. There was another gap that led into what had been a room, roof timbers hanging down and obscuring any view or shooting.

"Injuries?" she asked.

Bruises, cuts, abrasions, John had jammed a finger but could still use it. They'd been lucky. Tavares and John took up position at the gap, and David and Rebecca checked the room. One door had been blocked by debris, one to a dead end at the bottom of a short flight of stairs. It looked like there'd been a door there, with a carved thing at the side. Carving at the side. Right where the crest had been at the residence. Rebecca hurried down the stairs.

"Rebecca?"

"Just let me check this - " Bird holding a polearm. Eagle, she thought randomly, and grabbed the carving. It moved, reluctantly, shedding grit and dust and bits of rubble, pulling out enough that she could try to turn it. It was harder than the ones in the residence, too much weathering. "I think there's a passage here. Give me a hand."

With both of them working it, the carving turned clockwise, and there was a groaning, rumbling noise as the door slowly slid aside. Not all the way, blocked or rusty gears or whatever, but enough to slide through.

"Secret passages," David said, disgusted, just as John shouted a warning. "This way!"

Rebecca grabbed a flashlight and went first, telling David to check the other side to close it. The stairs were long and steep, barely wide enough to pass sideways, and the others blocked the light even before David closed the door. It didn't want to close, David sidled down to let John grab the door and push it the rest of the way.

"Can't shoot through that."

Rebecca moved carefully down the stairs, hearing shouting outside. Women's voices, this was the first time she'd heard women in Umbrella's armed forces. She'd have to ask Carlos if there'd been any women in UCBS - she'd have to keep her mind on the damn situation. There was another door at the bottom, another crest; she could turn this one alone, opening it to a small room. There was a coat-rack, an umbrella stand, a boot-scraper and a small bench, all covered with dust, and another door on the other side, a plain wooden one, locked.

There was an overhead light and a switch, but Rebecca didn't move for it, listening intently. No light from beyond the door, no noise. She pulled out the keyring Claire had found and started trying keys. On the fifth key, the lock turned. David tapped her shoulder and she stepped back; John raised the rifle while David pushed the door open.

Nothing happened. No alarm, no noise, not even a little flashing light. The flashlights played over a dark room.

"Turn off the flashlights." They couldn't even hear anything from above now, no light was seeping in through the door. "No light infiltration. Try the lights."

The overhead in the anteroom didn't work. In the next room, three of the bulbs were burned out, but the table and desk lamps still worked. The room had been a study, blotter, papers and pens on the desk, a bookcase of scientific titles and two small, leatherbound books like the journals, a large leather club chair next to a table with more papers and a collection of photographs in tarnished frames, and no obvious door. If they waited until the soldiers moved - 

There was a muffled rumble above.

"Think those rotten timbers just gave way."

Rebecca didn't need to speak French to understand Tavares' angry comment as the soldier turned and started examining the walls, searching desperately for a door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this might be a little rushed. Wanted to get it up before the end of the year.


	8. Chapter 8

"Hello, Claire."

She didn't recognize the voice or her surroundings. Her eyes watered when she looked at the too-bright light over her bed, and she couldn't sit up when she tried. Hospital bed, she was strapped down, an IV in her right arm. She didn't hurt much and her brain was a little foggy, better than the last time she'd gotten hit over the head. The bed moved suddenly, a little jerkily, putting her up into a reclining position, the sheet over her slipping slightly. Naked, injured, strapped to a hospital bed in an Umbrella facility. She was going to kick Trent's ass if she ever saw him again.

"I've wanted to meet you for a long time." The teenage girl next to her bed was - Claire wasn't sure what she was. Blonde, her skin had a faint greenish tinge, and she looked - compressed and contorted, like her skin had stopped growing and the rest of her hadn't. "At least since I found out you killed Mother. I should be angry, I think, but it's hard to be angry about someone you never met."

She had the same crazy eyes Alfred had, the same eyes Alexia had had the one time she'd seen her looking human."Who are you?"

"Oh, I haven't introduced myself. I am Veronique Ashford." She inclined her head briefly. "I don't understand how you killed her, though. I didn't think Mother had started experimenting on you."

If she didn't know it had been Chris, Claire wasn't going to tell her. "I wasn't going to let her walk away after what she'd done." She didn't remember anything after the snowcat crashed until waking up to Chris shaking her, not even how long she'd been out, and Alexia could have done anything.

"No, you wouldn't. I don't think I would, either." She sounded perfectly sincere. "No, I think I'm asking questions in the wrong order. Mother was last, not first. Raccoon City would be first." She paused, clearly thinking, and started talking enthusiastically about antibody counts, virus exposure and a Dr. Monteiro, and something about T-103s, that she clarified as Tyrant Retrievers - it sounded like Mr. X and Nemesis. Umbrella must keep their own people in the dark if she didn't know there'd been two in the city. She sounded impressed when Claire said she'd killed one and chattered about virus on the Tyrant's skin. Her leg had scarred where Mr. X had clawed her, but - they'd know if she was infected or a carrier by now. Veronique asked if she'd gotten the vaccine, this Monteiro had been in contact with the researcher working on it.

Rebecca would love to hear all of this. "No. Why did you send one after us?"

"You got out of the residence and then you killed the Hunters. I didn't think anything less was going to get you somewhere my soldiers could get you." She paused. "Maybe I should have just sent soldiers from the beginning, it would have been less complicated, I do keep over-complicating things. You escaped through the sewers and Dr. Birkin's lab, where the outbreak started, yes?"

Chris and Leon and the others were all in Europe, Annette Birkin and Ada Wong were supposed to be dead, and they'd been careful not to tell Sherry about her parents. Rebecca and the rest hadn't been taken with her. They didn't know what Trent knew about anything. "Did you know the Birkins?"

Veronique shook her head. "No, William Birkin hated Mother. I don't think Mother ever met Annette Boyd and I didn't either, she only worked with William toward the end, no one else could keep up with him. Well, _I_ could have. But his G-Virus was a failure and he hated Mother. T-Veronica is very successful." She sounded extremely pleased with herself. "He had multiple T-Virus strains, that's probably where you were exposed to so many different kinds. Oh, there was another outbreak when you were imprisoned on Rockfort. That's a very impressive immune response, even weakened virus in that quantity can be infectious. Father thought you caused the outbreak, but I don't think you'd cause an outbreak where you were, at least not before you had a clear escape route. Did you go to Antarctica because you knew Mother was there or was that a coincidence?"

"Plane trouble." Alfred. She had to mean Alfred. There wasn't anybody else - Raval and Steve were the only other male survivors, and they couldn't possibly be this girl's father. She shouldn't be so surprised, Alfred had been obsessed enough to try to _be_ his sister, maybe Alexia had - if she thought about it, she was going to puke. "I didn't know about Alexia."

"Really?" The girl frowned. "Father was certain - but he also thought you caused the outbreak. He wasn't well."

Not well. _Not well_. Laughing with a cracked rib hurt like hell, even with whatever they'd shot her up with, and she gasped with pain and then gasped for breath. Veronique looked alarmed and went to the phone. Claire, trying to breathe, couldn't hear the conversation; she got her breath back just as Veronique turned back to her.

"I want to ask you about Raccoon City, the company left out all the important and interesting bits from the reports they gave me, but I have to go for now. I enjoyed talking to you, Claire, and I'll come back soon." 

She sounded like she meant it; she'd rattled on like she was deeply pleased to talk to her, to have anyone to talk to. Alfred had been crazy as a loon, Alexia had been even worse, so they'd - Alexia had been in a cryotube for fifteen years at least. The girl couldn't be less than fifteen, maybe more. How old - 

All the Ashfords were batshit and that was as far as she was going to think about it. Her arms and legs were strapped down too, and even if she could get loose, she wasn't going to run around an Umbrella base in a sheet. If she got out of this, Rebecca needed to know everything Veronique had told her. Tyrants had virus on the skin. It was possible to develop antibodies to T-virus.

\-----

Monteiro'd gotten a response faster than she'd expected; Asenjo had just gone off-duty, and she'd collected another soldier for the demonstration. They'd been impressed by the complete effectiveness of the vaccine against the airborne virus, not as much by its limited effectiveness against injection and presumably bites.

Asenjo leaned on the console next to her, careful to avoid the controls, and scratched her head; her dark hair was already growing back. "We've been kept on-site since we picked up Redfield."

Monteiro injected the first round of antivirals into the rats. "The war?"

"Looks bad. The regulars rallied after last night and are taking back territory. Abaddie's not holding his men together."

Bourne moved to Asenjo's other side. "Even odds whether he tries to take us down with him."

"Girl's got Rahn working on a plan to assassinate him and let someone else take the credit. Or blame."

The rats were stabilizing. "That's unusually sensible." She would have expected her to use Abbadie as a test subject instead. Maybe she was still too obsessed with Redfield for that.

"Rahn was surprised. She's planning to make it look like an inside job so his party fractures. What's the company think?"

"The company won't care as long as she keeps sending them research." She was sure the girl wasn't sending them her real research on the T-Veronica she'd inherited; everything she'd seen go out was on plain T-Virus, adapting its mutagenic properties for greater control and intelligence retention. Relatively speaking. "And doesn't ask for budget increases." She gave the rats the second dose of anti-virals.

"Fucking cheapskates." Bourne shook her head, blonde ponytail bouncing. "If you can't space out the dose more than that, that's not worth much."

"The calculations are based on body mass. Rats die from necrosis in an hour or so. Humans can survive infected for days, potentially for weeks if the necrosis is controlled."

"Which means?"

"Human doses should be spread over two to four hours, depending on symptoms and body mass." The rats were improving. "And probably method of infection. Bites are - "

The phone rang. Apparently Redfield had had some sort of fit or coughing attack, probably aggravated her broken rib, and was now in pain. Monteiro calmed her down, agreed to check on Redfield as soon as she finished her current task, and convinced her to let the woman rest again, at least for an hour or two.

"What's she want with Redfield?"

"She said several rather confused things about her parents, colonies and drones. I think she has some sort of experiment in mind." She gave the rats the third dose. "I haven't sorted out what, though." The particular tests she'd run were usually reserved for viral test subjects, though the way the girl watched and chattered at Redfield suggested something more complicated.

Asenjo shrugged. "Does it matter?"

"It does if she can't or won't contain it."

"Point."

"So how's Redfield managed to stay ahead of the European security detail? Her brother's ex-mil, not her."

"She's working with him and the rest of that lot," Bourne said. "Anyway, they did catch her last year. Then she blew up Rockfort and the Antarctic base."

"Rockfort was probably damaged by the attack."

Asenjo and Bourne argued about the Rockfort attack and who'd blown up which facility while the rats recovered. Monteiro's last contact there had gotten transferred back to Paris not long before the island was attacked, and she only knew what little the company had said; the site had been cleaned up to remove the evidence. She suspected it was, or would be, turned into a training area again. Within twenty minutes, the rats were running around their cage reasonably normally.

"All right, Doc, looks like your stuff works on rats." Bourne grinned. "If we can get back out, we'll try to get you some test subjects."

"We can grab the rest of the S.T.A.R.S. when they come looking. Shouldn't be long, unless they've gotten stuck in politics. Unless she's got plans for them."

"She's been too focused on Redfield to say. Go ahead and bring them in, they'll be useful even if she does." She picked up her medkit. "In the meantime I'd better attend to Redfield." She considered, briefly, giving Redfield the vaccine and dismissed it; the girl wouldn't wait a week to start experimenting, and the vaccine would likely take at least that long to become effective.

Bourne left, heading out to presumably find the rest of their team. Asenjo paused, letting the door close in front of her, and leaned on the desk.

"Things could blow up."

"The Embassy?"

Asenjo nodded. "Should have let us snatch her off the street instead instead of hurling stones at a wasps' nest."

The company likely still had enough well-placed people, and enough general clout, to shut down an ambassador to an unimportant place like Ste. Selene. Whether they'd bother for an unimportant facility was a different question. "We could use Redfield to move things up," she said thoughtfully. "Maybe the others."

"Move things - " Asenjo scratched her head again. "That could work. Give me a chance to set it up."

"Right. Don't get reckless, Sofie."

"Me? Dorian, the girl or the company'd probably just kill me. You, they'd have _plans_ for. Don't forget Dr. Strickland."

"I am careful." She'd seen what was left of Strickland.

Asenjo shook her head and slipped out of the door. Monteiro sighed and left, heading down a level to find Redfield.

\-----

Veronique had been certain Claire was another queen, that she'd killed Mother out of rivalry.

She still thought Claire was a queen, the way the drones and workers responded to her seemed to confirm it, but she didn't understand about Mother anymore. Maybe it was only that Mother had attacked and tried to take her drones. Only about the drones. Claire hadn't wanted to be in Mother's part of the world, Mother and Mother's unbuilt colony hadn't been her concern until she'd been captured; she had only acted against Mother after one of her drones was experimented on and the other was threatened.

Claire wasn't expanding her colony, she was only defending it, at least then. 

Veronique turned to the virus strains she had incubating and studied the test results, then selected the one that was the closest match. The company didn't understand - or didn't care, it took more time and work - that even ordinary T-Virus could be specialized to particular biochemical environments and was much more interesting and potentially useful that way. T-Veronica was much superior, of course. Her last test subject had retained the ability to understand simple commands and perform ordinary tasks, even without direct orders; his mutations had impeded his movements, but he had nearly escaped the lab. She'd repaired as many of his wounds as she could before placing him in a cryotube, hoping that his body would adapt further to the virus. Earlier tests on women suggested that the results would be superior, but she hadn't quite refined it enough before she ran out of test subjects.

She studied her notes and picked up the necessary equipment with difficulty - she hoped not to need Monteiro's assistance, she wanted to talk to Claire alone some more. If Claire had only been defending her colony, then - 

Then Claire was going to be very angry if anything happened to her drones and her soldier.

She would have to be very careful.


	9. Chapter 9

David found a sliding door that led into what looked like a hallway, and he and John went in to investigate. Tavares was still searching the rest of the study walls. It looked like a men's club out of an old movie, big heavy furniture and leather-covered chairs in dark colors.

Rebecca forced herself to search methodically; panic wouldn't help them get out and find Claire. The papers on top of the desk were notes on various degenerative diseases, especially Huntington's Disease - the handwriting looked familiar, like a sloppier version of the writing in the journals - and the light wasn't good enough to make anything out on the blotter. There was a picture of a bride in her dress, a posed wedding photo and the couple with a baby, nothing written on the back of any of them. The first two drawers on the left had ordinary office supplies, the third was empty, and the bottom drawer held five palm-sized stone tablets. Each had a design - a sword, a shield, a torch, some kind of flowering plant, and the eagle with the polearm - on the front, and a small hole in the back that looked like it should fit into something. She looked around, didn't immediately see anything they fit into, and set them on top of the desk.

The top drawer on the right was empty, scraps of paper suggesting it had been emptied in a hurry. The second held what looked like a lab inventory - glassware, equipment, etc. The third and fourth were filled with old bills and financial information, none of it any use. Rebecca ran her hands under the top of the desk and found a small finger-sized depression toward the back; she pressed it cautiously and felt something release. She pulled it forward, revealing a shallow drawer with two handwritten pages, torn off from something else.

'Changed the flat locks - J. di. H. ac. T. di. E. - A. will be gone until next week.' Not very helpful - she looked at the tablets. Four initials, five tablets. 'Arrangements made. Everything not taken must be destroyed.' Arrangements for what?

The handwriting on the other sheet was larger and rounder, almost illegible as if hastily written. 'A. doesn't know I'm here. As instructed, have locked up the flat from the lab side, am going now, for god's sake as soon as you can tell me what's going on, it can't be a spill, everything's destroyed or removed.'

Tavares gave up on the study and went after David and John.

She put the pages in the bag and turned to check the bookcase, picking up the journals first. They picked up after the ones Claire had found, as if he'd just left the others in place; maybe they'd had access to the other space. She skimmed carefully through it, trying not to get caught up in the research - there was enough clear information here that she thought the writer had been trying to find a way to make the virus useful for regenerating damage from injuries and degenerative diseases - and found a note on the lab locks.

_I'd forgotten James' colorblindness when I designed the lab lock. I've switched out the stones for ones of different textures so he can get into the lab on his own._

The rest was more research notes, until the end. _Alexander's obsessions have narrowed his research and his mind; I have forbidden him access to the family tombs._ It was almost the last entry, February 1968; the last entry was May, about a potential research breakthrough by Thea, Helen and James.

She put the journals into the bottom of the bag with the others and checked over the rest of the shelf. Scientific titles more than thirty years old, nothing hidden in them, no more papers on the rest of the shelf. The papers on the table were lab reports with cryptic annotations, mostly related to brain or nerve function. There were more family photos and a group shot in of four people in a lab - an old lab, a long, scarred wooden table covered with equipment behind them, bookcases lining the wall behind that. The older man was the man from the photos on the desk, graying-blonde, laughing, and dressed in a kind of casual elegance that probably cost a fortune, maybe twenty years older than the wedding photos. One of the women was smiling, blonde, and strongly resembled him. The other woman was dark-haired and laughing with her arm around the younger man, also dark-haired; there was something familiar about them both. 'Edward, Thea, Helen, James, October 1966' was written across the back, the handwriting similar to the second note.

Not useful right now. She set the picture down, collected the tablets and went to the hallway. It ended in a blank wall to her left, precisely where she thought a door should be, and opened onto a kitchen and dining area where the others were talking quietly. There were dishes in the rack next to the sink, and boxes of something in the open cabinet behind John, who was talking to Tavares. 

They hadn't found anything either, scattered personal effects, a few old magazines and novels, nothing with names; it looked as if someone had searched it before it was abandoned. Rebecca reported briefly on what she'd found and handed over the notes.

"When was this?"

The last entry had been 1968. "I'd guess 1968. I'd be more worried about current spills." If there'd been a spill at all.

"Quite. The door should be at the end of the hallway."

It took several minutes of searching to find the catch, almost invisible and just about eye-level for David. The panel in front of them slid into the wall, surprisingly quietly for something that hadn't been maintained for decades, revealing a perfectly ordinary wooden door with an old-fashioned lock. The other lock must be to keep people out, not in.

They could hear footsteps on the other side, and voices from the left; women's voices again, not quite understandable until they came closer.

"- wants them all alive."

"I hear Monteiro does too."

"Wouldn't think they'd be her type. Trapp might be mine, though, got a great ass for a guy his age."

Rebecca didn't look up, but David made a small choking noise.

"Hamilton, you're still on duty. And he's going to shoot you."

"Yeah, my luck sucks."

The voices moved to the right and faded and the footsteps died away shortly afterward.

They stepped back into the kitchen area for a brief conference. "Rebecca, is there any information on the location of the lab?"

"No. It's probably in a lower level, if this lab is set up like the others." Maybe this was a prototype for other Umbrella labs.

David nodded. "Our primary goal is to find and retrieve Claire and escape with as little commotion as possible. Finding more information about the lab and the people running it is secondary and will be discarded if it interferes with finding Claire." Tavares was starting to look relieved even before John translated. "John and I will check the corridor first. Then I'll take point and John has the rear."

There was a second panel on the other side of the door; David found the catch almost at once and slid it aside, leaving them blinking at a dull, low-ceilinged concrete corridor. He and John moved out and called clear a few seconds later; Rebecca and Tavares followed them. Rebecca closed the door, then pulled the panel shut, hearing both lock automatically. Closed, the panel was almost invisible, with a smaller panel to the right that probably covered the puzzle lock.

It was startlingly quiet here, no voices or footsteps beyond their own, not much noise besides the soft hiss of air and a distant hum that might be an elevator. David went right, following the corridor around to an elevator and stairs; another corridor led off from there, probably to the entrance the guards had used. The only open doors had been for a bathroom and a well-stocked medical facility.

John looked at the camera setup. "Fixed camera, cable's in a conduit." 

"Be ready."

No alarms went off when they entered the stairwell. The stairs only went down, four flights to the level marked 'B2', and at least one more level, maybe two, below that. Rebecca couldn't hear anything outside the door; David gestured the three of them back and cracked it open, then gestured them through. This looked a little different than the first floor; the stairs opened out onto a corridor running directly away and two short, dead-end corridors on either side, splitting the area up into two large blocks.

Two doors on each side. First door on the right was a large, well-organized storeroom for lab equipment, with syringes, scalpels, etc. locked up tight in cabinets, and glassware and other basic equipment on open shelves, no drugs or specimen refrigerators. Second held furniture - spare chairs and stools, a few desk lamps, empty file cabinets, a couple boxes of light bulbs. The doors on the left had keycard locks, the further one red-lit, the other green. Occupied? Open?

She and Tavares watched the elevator and stairs while John covered the green-marked door. David hurled it open, shouting something - a woman's startled or frightened voice, zombie moaning - John dashed after David. No more shouting, the zombie moaning unchanged, a door kicked down and the zombie sounds louder. She couldn't hear David or John, she desperately wanted to turn around and look for the zombies, and the elevator started to hum. She couldn't read the buttons, didn't remember whether they went up or down as the light ticked up.

"Clear," John hissed, and gestured them both inside.

Rebecca yanked the door closed after them. It was a lab, obviously, what might have been one large room divided into two by a windowed wall, workstations the opposite wall along with specimen refrigerators and an autoclave. The scientist stood in the center of the room with her hands up. A coffeepot with a fresh pot of coffee sat on the short wall by the door, next to a minifridge and a microwave. A broken door in the back led into an infirmary. No zombies, no zombie stench, and the noises stopped, as sharply cut off as if someone had flipped a switch.

"Put your hands down," John said, as David came out of the infirmary. "Slowly. Keep them where I can see them."

Tavares turned to watch the door, but Rebecca was sure he was listening.

The scientist was probably close to David's age, vaguely Mediterranean-looking, dark hair braided and pinned up out of the way, very nervous-looking with John aiming the 9mm at her. She lowered her hands carefully. "Redfield's not on this level." Rebecca couldn't place her accent.

David moved to the wall near the refrigerators. "Where is she, and why take her?"

"That was Director Ashford's order, and she hasn't explained why."

Claire'd thought all the Ashfords were dead, not that it really mattered. David looked at least as unimpressed as she felt. "Where is she?"

"The director's personal lab. Two floors down."

"Yeah, and every soldier in the place between us and her, right?" The scientist's expression said John was right. "Dammit."

"B3 is living quarters for everyone but the director," the scientist said reluctantly.

"Who are you, and what have you done to her since you captured her?"

"I am Dr. Dorian Monteiro," the scientist replied, scowling at Rebecca. "And I haven't done anything to Redfield."

The name was vaguely familiar. The scientist kept talking, seemingly reluctantly, claiming she didn't have any idea what Ashford wanted with Claire or what she'd done to her already, claiming not to have done anything beyond check her injuries.

"You're the base medic?"

Monteiro scowled again. "I am a immunologist. The base medic is not available."

She had it, if she ever got to get back to a normal life she really owed her old professor for all the scandals he'd talked about. "Monteiro. You were one of the researchers Dr. Charles Powell plagiarized years back, weren't you?"

"Powell plagiarized everything from his thesis forward, and probably backwards. He was an incompetent hack who only survived by theft, bullshit and greasing palms."

"You'd been researching the role of cytokines in viral immunosuppression, and he stole your data for a paper on Epstein-Barr that published two weeks before yours."

Monteiro's mouth worked briefly before she spoke, hands closing into fists. "Robbing me of an important publication at a critical time."

"Hey!" Tavares shouted, and Rebecca heard something outside.

She spun around and raised her rifle, aiming for the door as it was yanked open from the other side. Someone flung a small object through - grenade, shit - and slammed it shut again. Rebecca dove away from the grenade, trying to get her back to it and cover her head, vaguely aware of the others doing the same. Bang, no shrapnel, hissing - tear gas again - and then she was coughing, her eyes tearing up and her nose running. The door slammed open again, she was coughing too hard to risk shooting, so she slammed to butt of the rifle into the torso of the first soldier in reach.

The soldier punched her in the jaw, sending her staggering, then grabbed her, spun her around, slammed her into the wall and cuffed her hands behind her back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay here. Could *not* decide on POV at first and kept trying multiples before settling on a single.


	10. Chapter 10

Claire'd woken up dizzy and confused, her left arm aching like it had been repeatedly punched; it was bright red and felt like the skin was about to peel off. The room was freezing, she was shivering and attached to a lot of equipment, and she could barely focus on Veronique to her left. She wasn't telling her about Leon and Sherry, and Veronique didn't want to hear about the stench and the noise and the flies, about the only other living people - Irons and Annette Birkin - being completely crazy; all she cared about was William Birkin and the monsters and how she thought the outbreak started. And taking blood, Claire'd lost track of how many times.

"What did you do to me?" Something moved to her right, a big bulky shadow that disappeared when she turned her head.

"You're a queen," Veronique said, as if that explained everything. She raised a hand as if she were going to scratch her arm, but didn't. "You have a colony with drones and soldiers. I should have had more, but the others all died."

"Others?" The shadow appeared again when she looked at the girl.

"Father's notes weren't very clear. I don't know why they died." It was hard to hear her over the muttering angry voices that had started up from somewhere - it was static, it had to be intercom static, but Veronique didn't seem to notice. 

"Hey! Hands off!" Claire snapped, when Veronique reached out to touch her left arm. Her hand was ice-cold and felt creepily like the beetles she'd picked off plants in the garden as a kid.

She shrugged. "No one else has exhibited that reaction."

Claire lunged upward, the restraints digging painfully into her body, trying to get her hands free, unbearably hot. "You _infected_ me!" Veronique jumped back when the table creaked and groaned, and she could suddenly move a little more, the restraints had loosened. Something started beeping wildly. She collapsed back onto the bed, panting for breath, her heart racing; the room was spinning, she was dripping with sweat and suddenly back to freezing.

"You're not an Ashford, so you shouldn't be like us." Veronique made no attempt to move closer. Maybe nobody else had ever done _that_ either. "T-Veronica is very sensitive to biochemistry, so I selected a strain closest to yours, but your reactions are still very unusual." The muttering suddenly got louder and Veronique turned to the intercom. Claire couldn't understand any of it, but something about her expression worried her. "I have to go for now, but I'll be back soon."

She picked up the blood samples and disappeared through the door. Claire lay on her back panting, waiting for the room to stop spinning to fight the restraints again.

\-----

"And you tell me to be careful." Asenjo leaned on the wall, folded her arms over her chest, and scowled at her. "You were supposed to hide in the back."

"They showed up faster than you said they would." Monteiro wrapped her shaking hands around the coffee mug, did not rub her eyes or her nose, and wished the whiskey wasn't back in her quarters; the coffee itself wasn't warming her up quickly enough. "How did they get in?"

"No idea yet. Bourne's talking about secret passages again."

Monteiro sighed. "She's your problem, not mine." Umbrella's fondness for absurd locks and secret entrances aside, she doubted even this group could have found their way into one and through it to the lab that quickly. "What now?"

"Rahn's got things moving. So who's Powell?"

"You heard that?" Not that Asenjo expected her to have a clean record; most people in her position had closets full of skeletons, occasionally quite literally.

"Door was cracked. Your ex?"

"God forbid." Monteiro grimaced, remembering; Powell had been a smarmy bastard she'd been stuck with after someone else went on sabbatical. "An alleged scientist and my dissertation advisor, who stole research he was too incompetent to perform on his own. Including mine."

"What did you do about it?"

Official channels had been neither effective nor satisfying. "He died in hospital." 

Asenjo grinned. "Maybe I shouldn't have been that worried about you."

"They had weapons," Montiero pointed out. "And training. A non-exercising middle-aged scientist is a much easier target."

"So stop complaining when I haul your ass down for a workout." Asenjo glanced at the clock. "No time. Be ready to move, Rahn says everything up top's volatile."

After she left, Monteiro studied the lab. She'd already backed up all her research. She'd need to dispose of the rodents and autoclave all the virus she didn't require for vaccine production. The vaccine and antivirals in excess of her ability to transport could be left with Redfield or one of her group, possibly with a copy of her research; Chambers was supposed to be some sort of child prodigy, at least, and she'd prefer not to risk losing everything if something went spectacularly wrong.

\-----

Claire's drones were very impressive specimens, even if she had left Chris in Europe. Veronique had no idea how she'd amassed such a strong collection so quickly; her information suggested she'd only had Chris before Raccoon City. Perhaps Raccoon City had triggered her colony-building instincts. She'd also traveled much more; Veronique had rarely left the lab and never the island. She would make arrangements for extensive travel after she shed this skin.

"Director Ashford."

"Yes." She was briefly alarmed by his red, peeling skin, only to realize it was simply a common sunburn; he attempted to jerk back when she approached him and cleaned his arm with an alcohol wipe. He had been sufficiently well restrained that it was ineffectual.

"You caused the civil war." He had a pleasant accent and an attractive voice.

"No, that was Abbadie. And he couldn't succeed even with the Hunters. Very disappointing." She began drawing blood with considerable difficulty, her fingers starting to cramp and ache. Perhaps she should have shed her skin first, her impatience wasn't helping her research. It was hard to resist the urge to scratch the all-encompassing itch her skin had become.

"You were supporting him."

"President Tailler was not of any use." Abbadie's money had greatly supplemented the inadequate company funding, and he'd been modestly competent at finding test subjects.

The drone pressed on even while she drew blood, pushing for information on the Hunters and the Tyrant. He wouldn't tell her anything about Claire or how she'd escaped the residence, or any details why they'd come here; she would have to let her soldiers handle the interrogation until she'd shed her skin. Her hands were cramping persistently and painfully, and the pain was starting in her feet.

"How long's Monteiro been working for you?" The younger had been silent until she began drawing blood from him.

"Long enough." She'd been intended to assist Dr. Strickland, but he had made a better test subject than drone or scientist. "She's an excellent researcher. It's unfortunate Annette Boyd died in Raccoon, she would have been very useful." Or possibly not, the last few communications she'd seen had been alarmingly incoherent. She set the last blood vial in the case, and the motion made the skin on her arm crack, a thick, clear liquid oozing out. "Please do not do anything dangerous; I would prefer not to have to reconstruct either of you at this time."

She left the room quickly, skin cracking and oozing with every motion, and attempted to hurry to her lab, leaning heavily on the walls as her feet and legs cramped. She could barely work the lock to get inside and quickly dropped all the blood samples into cold storage, then dictated orders to Rahn to have the drones interrogated, and to Dr. Monteiro to prepare Claire for cryo-storage, run tests on Claire's soldier, and give her the Ste. Selene drone as a test subject. 

Then she removed her clothes, clawed at her scalp until it broke, and climbed the wooden support to begin pushing out of her skin.

\-----

Dinner-plate-sized spiders crawled out of the vents, bony armor clacking with every movement. Claire jerked frantically at the restraints, ignoring the staticy muttering from the intercom and the urgent mumbling of the shadow next to the bed. The spiders were all over a table by the door, covering the walls, spinning table-sized snot-green webs in the corners, and starting to explore the floor, they were moving toward the _bed_ \- she flung herself upright with a disgusted, horrified cry, and felt the restraints on her upper body and arms give way. She was drenched with sweat and shaking with chills, barely able to reach the restraints on her legs and feet, and it took multiple tries to release them.

The door was covered in spiders.

Spiders clacked across the ceiling, scrambled over each other on the walls, and swarmed around the bed.

The door opened suddenly, spiders tumbling off or scuttling back onto the wall. It wasn't Veronique, whoever it was was taller and darker, there was a shadow behind her.

"That damned girl." A woman's voice. She stopped just inside the door, well out of arms' reach; spiders clacked out of the way when she set something down on the table. "Redfield, do you understand me?" The shadow followed her, not disappearing when she tried to look at it, details shifting a little in better light: an Umbrella soldier, probably.

"Who are you?"

"Good. Do you remember what happened?"

"That bitch infected me."

"Don't move. I have vaccine and anti-virus."

Vaccine. Anti-virus. "Where the hell was all that in Raccoon?"

"Under development." The spiders scuttled out of her way as she entered the room, the other person staying in the door, arm raised as if they had a weapon. "Two shots." 

It didn't matter, she was as good as dead if this stuff was fake, she refused to become the source of an outbreak. The shadow by the bed started shouting furiously and incomprehensibly, enough to drown out the muttering and the spiders scuttling frantically out of the woman's way. She bit her tongue trying not to cry out when the woman wiped her arm, it felt like she'd taken half the skin off, and the needles felt like big blunt icicles, pain shooting out from the injection sites.

"You're on B4. The two men who came with you are down the hall. The woman and the Ste. Selene soldier are on B3." 

"Why?"

"Consider it self-preservation, if you like."

The spiders scrambled over each other as she left. Claire gulped, swung her legs down, and stood, then swayed and grabbed the table as the room spun around her. The spiders surged up onto the bed and she stumbled away, picking her way as carefully as she could. The door was still clear, and the table, with a sack of stuff lying on the table. Clothes - not hers, approximately sized - her Sig, a keycard, a sealed box of something and a pack of CDs with something illegible written on them.

It had to be a trap, maybe a setup to get her shot or sell her out as a traitor to somebody in Ste. Selene, or - there were a lot of possibilities, but it did mean she could move, find the others, and not be naked in the middle of an Umbrella lab.

Even if the thought of trying to dress surrounded by spiders made her sick.


	11. Chapter 11

Her smashed nose hurt worse than her aching jaw, and something, probably a piece of metal from a broken strap, had cut her cheek. At least the bleeding had stopped. She hadn't gotten anything useful, really, except that there might be an abandoned house in London affiliated with Umbrella; she'd said something about an abandoned house where they'd gotten the journals and they'd asked about what she and David had been doing in London. She hadn't told them anything useful, either, they still didn't know how they'd gotten in.

Yet, anyway. They'd barely gotten started, they hadn't tried drugs or a real beating yet.

She could hear shouts and people running, it sounded organized and unpanicked, crisp orders directing people to various locations she couldn't identify. Bits and pieces drifted through the cell door to her, someone had shown up in force, none of the Umbrella people were sure who'd tipped them off, they didn't think much of whoever was outside. Rebecca hoped that last part was arrogance. There was a handover and then it went quiet, maybe two people walking around. A few times she heard a door open and close, not something as heavy as the cell door. Then she heard a steady beeping sound. Running, another door opening, swearing, something heavy being dragged.

"Rahn, fucking Hunters are trying to fucking smash out of their fucking cages." The voice was on edge but surprisingly calm.

Radio noise, she couldn't make out the response, but it was probably less than a minute before she heard a lot more people. The beeping sound was being drowned out by determined pounding. The activity picked up, a big door sliding open. A Hunter screeched triumphantly, joined by at least one more, maybe two. The cell was tiny, maybe six by five, no room to maneuver; the door was heavy metal with a grille just above Rebecca's eye level, even a Hunter would have trouble bashing it down or tearing it open.

Somebody started shooting, M9s or something similar, the noise echoing deafeningly off the concrete walls, making it almost impossible to hear anything else. She backed against the wall, keeping an eye on the door, managing not to yelp when bullets ricocheted off it. The firing died down slowly, then stopped, ending with three shots from a high-caliber handgun.

Someone yanked her cell door open, a blonde with a ponytail, and hauled her out, dragging her to a woman lying on her back on the floor; a bloody streak on the floor suggested she'd been moved. There were three other soldiers standing and three dead Hunters, two in a heap near a short corridor with a destroyed door, the third a few feet away from the downed woman. She didn't get a good look, but she thought she saw stairs down to water beyond a few light aircraft. The elevator and stairs were opposite the hangar, corridors ran down to what looked like military quarters opposite the destroyed corridor, with another set of stairs near the quarters.

The woman on the floor was Monteiro, the left side of her clothes shredded and bloody, probably by a Hunter. A fourth soldier, Hispanic maybe, was kneeling next to the researcher, apparently trying to stanch the bleeding. 

"You're a medic," the blonde snapped, handing her a medkit.

Nobody was pointing a gun at her right now, but that didn't mean much. She knelt down next to the researcher, searching for the wounds, finding deep tears along the arms and punctures in her left side, deep enough for internal damage, probably not hitting the kidney at least. The kit wasn't hers, but she recognized everything in it, mostly Umbrella products, unsurprisingly, no time to worry about it, Monteiro was already deep in shock. The soldier assisted with the parts that were easier with a second pair of hands, both of them bloody by the time it was done.

"She's stable, but she needs medical attention as soon as possible for possible internal damage."

"I'll handle it." The soldier eased the researcher into a carry and stood. "The guy from Ste. Selene's in the next cell. Your gear's in the third room down. Everybody else is downstairs."

The blonde tossed her a keyring, and then they headed into the hangar, pulling the door closed behind them. A big engine started up, she'd taken two steps for Tavares' cell, and the other stairway door opened.

"John!"

"Rebecca! What the hell happened?" 

"Not my blood. Where are David and Claire?" The engine noise increased.

"Downstairs. Big problem. There's an Ashford here and she infected Claire."

"Shit!" Rebecca ran for Tavares' cell as the engine noise increased. "Our gear's here, I've got a medkit and - " and what? "Hope she meant our weapons are still here." Claire. Infected. She couldn't have progressed too far or John wouldn't have left her with David. 

"Grab it, I'll get them."

"Third room down." Rebecca unlocked the cell door; Tavares stared at the dead Hunters, then followed her down to the third door. Their weapons were in a locked case, everything but Claire's Sig; it only took her two tries to find the right key and collect them, the familiar weight a relief. The rest of their gear was spread out over two tables, journals and Claire's keyring included; Rebecca stuffed everything back into the bags and wondered where the hell John was. The next room was a security room, half the cameras broken or snowy, the clear ones showing a riot up above. Then she glanced at the next set.

Metal screens were sliding down to block a set of stairs, David and Claire still at the bottom, John racing for the top. Rebecca searched for controls, found a computer system left logged in and searched through the interface: Research, Quarters, Armory - rocket launchers, if they had time she should steal one, Director's Office. John cleared the stairs and ran. She opened it, stared at the bewildering mess of the interface, found something labeled 'Clear alarm conditions' and started working through it, turning when someone ran toward them.

"Good, good," John said, looking at the computer monitor, then at the screens. One of them flickered in enough to see the hangar - one helicopter, stairs down to the water, one seaplane, several boats. She heard him talk with Tavares while she ran through commands, shutting down the alarms, until she saw the screens start to rise. John grabbed her and they ran for the stairs while Tavares ran for the hangar.

"Told him to find something with a working radio and prep us an escape route."

Claire was infected, they couldn't take her on a boat or a plane, nothing enclosed, she could bite - they couldn't take her at all. They couldn't risk being attacked, they couldn't risk an outbreak. Her weapons felt a lot heavier. David was at the top of the stairs, scouting the area - 

\- and metallic noises, heavy noises, plates sliding down over the hangar door, over the stairs back into the rest of the facility and the elevator, faster than John could run for the hangar or Tavares run out of it. They slammed into place with a very final-sounding clang.

Tavares pounded on the metal panel covering from the other side; John yelled something, then came back. Rebecca handed him the extra weapons and ran for the security room again. The monitor had gone black, tapping keys brought up an Umbrella logo with only the white sections of the logo visible, and anything else she tried brought up an 'Access Denied' box on the screen. She could try rebooting the system, see if that got her in, she didn't know how long it would take or if it needed a password. She left the room instead and reported to David.

"Locked out. She must have overridden the other one."

"Fucking Ashfords." Claire was behind David, gripping the railing tightly.

"Rebecca, check on Claire. John, with me."

David was carrying Claire's Sig; he handed her a medical cold-storage box and a pack of CDs, she handed him a rifle, then he went back downstairs. She could see two open doors, one with chairs, one with a hospital bed, a closed door with a card reader and a large blank space that felt like it should have a door.

"What happened?"

"Just tell me the fucking spiders aren't real."

"No spiders," Rebecca said promptly. "What happened?"

T-Veronica, of course an Ashford would have T-Veronica. Claire's symptoms didn't match up with anything she'd seen or heard of: left arm bright red and hot to the touch, slightly swollen with extreme skin sensitivity, fever with chills and hallucinations both visual and audio, vertigo, lack of visual focus. No itching, no necrosis, no unusual hunger. Antivirus and vaccine, if it was real, if it worked. If it didn't, how was she supposed to tell Chris? Or Leon, or any of the others?

"Not turning into a monster, either." Her voice was flat. "I'm not getting any worse."

David pushed a panel to the side, revealing an ordinary wooden door. Rebecca dug out the keyring and tossed it down to him. "Don't jinx it."

Claire snorted. "This whole mission is jinxed."

"The self-destruct hasn't gone off yet." David opened the door, revealing a small anteroom or study, with a battered desk just visible at this angle, and stepped inside.

"Now _you're_ jinxing us."

David stepped back out and gestured them down. Claire had to lean on the rail on the way back down, walking slowly and unsteadily; she was a little better on the level floor below, but sat down quickly on the anteroom's only chair. Rebecca pulled the panel closed, then shut the door, and put the cold-storage box and the CDs on the desk. The walls were stained black from smoke along the ceiling and around the door at the other end; there was an open panel revealing an empty puzzle next to that door. The furniture - desk, chair, bookcase, small table - was battered and worn, a few pieces of indifferent art hanging crooked on the walls, and the ancient fluorescent light overhead buzzed and flickered. 

"At this point, it appears we have no choice but to confront Director Ashford." There was no point assuming anyone else was trying to keep them imprisoned at this point. "Rebecca, stay back with Claire. There may be more effective medication in the director's lab, or at least more information."

There were only ancient pens and scrap paper in the desk. The bookcase had old texts on genetics and human reproduction, a few small blank-spined books - more journals, the handwriting large and somehow childish - that she put on the desk for later, and an inexplicable stack of eighties teen fashion magazines. A small box tucked behind the textbooks turned to be empty.

"Oldest trick in the book," John muttered, pulling a picture off the wall. A recess held a few leatherbound journals and a small bag of red and green glass gems. He handed Rebecca the journals and turned to the panel. It wasn't even sealed; maybe it had just been a storage spot rather than a secret.

"Check the textures. One of them was colorblind, so they did something about texture."

David nodded. "John?"

"On it."

She turned back and opened the cold-storage box. Six vials, three marked vaccine, three marked anti-virus, two empty slots, syringes and hypodermics in the lid, scrawled notes on hypothetical human dosage and timing. Hypothetical. No testing, no idea whether this was effective against T-Veronica, whether it was an outright fraud. And she was giving it to Claire anyway, hoping they wouldn't have to shoot her. No alcohol wipes for her arm, she'd have to hope it was clean enough. She took out a syringe, needle and vial of anti-virus, closed up the box, and prepped the injection, using the entire vial as described, then turned to Claire.

"Left arm?"

"Yeah, close to the shoulder."

Rebecca studied Claire's arm, finding a particularly red spot near the top of the deltoid and a whitish one a little further down; she found a spot away from both and gave the injection. Claire winced and rubbed her arm, then started to skim the first set of journals; Rebecca took the second and flipped open the first volume. The handwriting was spiky and small, hard to read. Genetic research shared with or done for Spencer's W program, whatever that was, and anger with his father for interfering.

Father. She skimmed ahead to 1968, thinking about that one entry in the other set; she found a furious note that he'd been locked out of somewhere in February, and then only brief, cryptic notes until June. _Father's ashes have been interred with Mother. I'd forgotten his assistants, but Harmon insisted on handling that matter. Their brat knows nothing and is not able to interfere. Thea is_ \- the text here was scratched out - _a problem._

She didn't have time to read, just picked up key bits - legal battles over a will, obsessed with a dead woman named Veronica, grave-robbing, a lot of genetics material she'd need time and a good reference to understand, a few passing references to T-Virus as a resource-hogging obsession by someone else.

September 1971: _My research and experimental techniques were impeccable. The embryo must have split - but that explains nothing. The girl is perfect, but the other - no matter. Hormonal treatments and surgery will eventually be needed._

Nothing immediately useful. She put them in one of the bags and checked on Claire, who'd stuffed the other journals in another bag.

"Anything useful in there?"

Claire shook her head. "Not right now. They're Alfred's, the first half is creepy serial-killer-in-training stuff, along with medical treatments he hates and something about how horrible something his father did was. Then it's about missing Alexia and what I guess is creating Veronique. The last entry said Alexia had come back and wanted to live on Rockfort." 

Hormonal treatments and surgery - none of it was relevant now. "How do you feel?"

"Not as dizzy. Starting to get sick and my arm hurts like a few hours after a tetatus shot." She grimaced. "And I still have fucking spiders and muttering shadows."

No more chills, at least. Rebecca wasn't sure her arm was any less red, tender or hot; her eyes seemed to be focusing better. None of this had been mentioned on the notes, this wasn't like Karen or anything she'd heard of in stolen Umbrella files. Claire hadn't said anything about that kid, Steve, having any noticeable symptoms, but she'd had other things on her mind at the time. And this wasn't getting anything done, she was just delaying things again; she prepped another injection and delivered it.

"Fuck. Muscle cramps," Claire said, rubbing her arm. "Don't suppose you've got a hot pad in there."

Rebecca shook her head. "Sorry."

David and John were busy at the door, muttering intently over the puzzle. Claire dropped her voice and said, "Rebecca - if it goes wrong - tell Chris it wasn't his fault."

"He's going to think it's _my_ fault."

Claire shot her a look. "He's not going to blame you, he still thinks it's his fault I'm not safe at college."

David stepped back before Rebecca thought of anything to say to that, and gestured for them to get ready.

"Got it," John said. He listened at the door, then cracked it open and slipped inside. "No sign of her, but the whole place is full of bodies."

There was a corpse floating in a sealed tube before the door, female, gray-skinned and faintly scaled, arms and legs too long and jointed in places they shouldn't be, sewn-up autopsy scars clearly visible. Organs were stored in bubbles at the base, everything including the brain. More cuts had been sewn up on the uterus than Rebecca thought a C-section was supposed to leave. She moved forward and realized that there were five more tubes with female corpses, all mutated to varying degrees, all with autopsy scars and their organs at the base of the tubes.

To the left was a frosted glass wall, lined with five smaller tubes to the right of the door, filled with fetuses from five or six months up to a near-full-term infant, each mutated, vaguely insectile and gray or green, misplaced or too many joints and misproportioned limbs, a few stingers. The infant had viciously curved claws at the ends of its fingers and toes, almost the length of its hands and feet.

"She said the others all died..."

"Ashford?"

"She didn't know why they all died." Claire sounded incredulous, and Rebecca, staring at the various corpses, couldn't blame her.

Rebecca turned away, only then realizing that the concrete walls and floor were smoke-stained, chipped and bullet-pocked, and she wasn't sure if she was imagining the faint hint of other stains - splotches and splatters that could have been blood - on the wall. Luminol would probably light the place up like a Christmas tree.

David and John took point, moving ahead to the glass wall. She could just barely make out shapes on the other side, her vision blocked by the preservation tubes. There was a door toward the left wall, unlocked, Ashford must not have expected anyone to get in from the other side, was it even accessible from this side? It didn't matter.

"Stay back."

John went through, David covering him, and then David followed him. Rebecca drew her weapon and moved to cover the door, Claire leaning on one of the tubes. Her vision was cut off by the glass wall, she could just make out what looked like two larger tubes, the glass frosted - or maybe frozen over, it was hard to tell - just to the left of the door, alarmingly like the one Jill had described in the mansion that held the Tyrant. There was a lab, even fewer safety protocols than usual for Umbrella, a big wooden object blocking her view of a security station at the other end.

The thing reached to the ceiling, big enough to be a tree trunk, with a few branches or posts left on it, a giant vaguely-human shape hanging off it. The shape wriggled, twisted, its top half recognizably human if still misproportioned, clinging to one of the upper branches.

"Dragonfly," Claire said suddenly behind her.

"What?"

"Dragonfly. She's shedding her skin."

David and John moved forward, weapons trained on the thing on the tree. There was a rumbling noise, Claire shouted for them to get back, and the wall on the left exploded, something pushing through, thick and rough like a tree-root, rearing up like a blind worm and swaying in place.

John hurled himself into a dive-roll just as it swung, barely sliding under it as it struck out at him. David wasn't as lucky or as fast, the thing side-swiped him, knocking him into the glass wall. The glass cracked and shuddered, didn't shatter, he slid down and lay still. John scrambled past the tree, heading for the security system, and the thing swung back, struck out and smashed the cameras, sparks, smoke and flying glass, she couldn't see John at all.

She moved backwards, trying to push Claire out of the way. Claire shoved her to the ground just as the thing smashed through the door, shattering the glass on either side. Rebecca flung her arms over her face as the thing swept over her, spinning her around. It shoved her across the floor and slammed her into the nearest tube. Rebecca crumpled up at the base, her left side a wall of screaming pain, pain from glass cuts and battering minor in comparison.

The thing withdrew through the door and out of her field of vision.


	12. Chapter 12

Claire stalked down the room, spiders clacking and clattering overhead and broken glass crunching and cracking underfoot. 

_Fucking Ashfords._

Rebecca had been barely conscious and cut up from all the broken glass, David hadn't been any better when she took her Sig, and she didn't know where John was. She could see Veronique, half-hidden behind the tentacle thing, hair plastered to her skull with greenish goo, the rest of her body suddenly stretching and lengthening in sickening bursts, something on her back bulging and trembling. She had to get to her before she finished shedding her skin, before she grew up, transformed, whatever it was she was doing.

The tentacle swung up just as she passed the frosted tubes. She dropped to the floor and fell over onto her not-as-hurt side for a change, scrabbling back when it slammed into the tubes. They tilted on their bases with a sound of breaking metal, glass crazing into a web of cracks and thick liquid oozing out, dark shapes inside sliding around. She shoved herself to her feet as it pulled back and kept moving across the room.

The tentacle split in two, the smaller piece coming straight for her.

\-----

Veronique twisted and scraped against the support, her skin slipping down her legs to the ground. Her ribs and now hips expanded in a rapid series of pops, searing pain slicing through her as tissue and organs shifted to follow them and her legs and spine lengthened. She reached out for Claire with part of the organic mass, she could keep her imprisoned until her bones settled into their adult proportions, pulled the rest back as a shield against the drone or the soldier.

Her wings released, one two three four, a rip of pain accompanying each one. She snapped them out to full length to let them harden.

\-----

Claire tried to dodge, half the tentacle sliding along her legs, somehow rough and slimy at the same time, the stench of it making her gag. It curled around her, knees to waist, and lifted her off the floor, the other half pulling back around Veronique. The bulge on Veronique's back exploded, something translucent unfurling, soft and dripping greenish goo - wings. Chris had said Alexia'd sprouted wings, he'd shot them off.

She raised the Sig and aimed, only to have the tentacle yank her further off the floor, shake her and turn her almost upside down, enough that she almost brushed the ceiling and threw up violently onto the floor. The spiders started dropping to the floor on snot-green threads; she yanked her legs and arms in, away from them, despite Rebecca's assurance that they weren't real.

Veronique shrieked suddenly, the tentacle thrashing, and dumped her on the floor. Glass shattered behind her.

\-----

Something heavy smashed into her, soft ribs deforming and organs compressing. The drone, she'd forgotten the second drone, he'd hit her with the butt of his rifle. She reformed the organic mass into one, hurled it at him and he dodged, he was faster than she'd expected. The security monitors exploded, the glass cuts were minor but she smelled burning electronics. She heard distant rumbling and realized the security failsafe had released the doors. It didn't matter, Claire wasn't going to leave now, not until she was dead.

Veronique wouldn't have if their positions were reversed. 

A gun fired and the bullet smashed into the support immediately behind her head. She split the mass of organic matter, sent part of it to grab Claire, and searched for the drone with the remainder.

\-----

Claire's hands were shaking, she was sick with pain, and she was surprised she'd hit the support instead of the wall. She aimed for a second shot and the tentacle came flying back, straight for her. 

The shot hit it, was absorbed into the mass without apparent effect, it kept coming at her.

John shouted and Veronique shrieked again, the tentacle losing cohesion, sinking into a disgusting slimy mess. Claire pushed herself to her feet and staggered forward, the spiders crawling out of the muck and running for the sides of the room. 

She shot twice, the first shot hitting the wall and the second tearing through Veronique's chest. Blood spurted, Veronique screamed - and then the blood stopped, she could see the wound sealing up. She didn't have much ammo left, she had to hit her in the head with the next shot. Footsteps crunched behind her. Heavy, dragging footsteps. 

She backed away, sliding in the muck. It was like the one in Antarctica at the heliport, grey-scaled and with too-long limbs ending in claws, a recognizable face that probably used to be ordinary, male and circumsised, scarred everywhere. It wasn't looking at her, it was staring at Veronique, its jaw working with difficulty.

"Ashford!"

It ignored her completely, ignored John running, and lumbered toward Veronique, lurching drunkenly. Claire staggered backwards, trying to keep her balance as the muck started moving fast toward Veronique and the thing.

"Looks like the last time the sewer backed up."

Claire clapped a hand to her mouth and swallowed bile. "Don't start."

The river of muck rose up around the monster, trapping its legs, turning hard and glossy. The thing reached out an arm - the joints were all wrong and there were too many of them - and swatted at Veronique, tearing open the healing bullet wound on her chest. Veronique screamed and the muck rose up around the thing, trapping its arms and turning glossy. It howled in rage, struggling against the muck.

"We gotta get David and Becca out of here."

Veronique was distracted. Claire nodded and they moved back. David was already pulling himself to his feet. Rebecca was still out of it but the bleeding had stopped; David hauled her up and they escaped back into the study. Veronique screamed and the thing howled, then there was a deafening crash and more shattering glass from the lab.

Claire closed the door behind them. "Now what?"

"Think she fried the security system. Doors might be open."

"John, find us an escape route," David ordered, carefully setting Rebecca into the chair. She wasn't bleeding as much now, maybe it had looked worse than it was. "Claire, watch the doors."

Veronique could smash in the walls as easily as the door, but Claire picked up a rifle and kept watch while John slipped back out. If the Umbrella soldiers showed up, they were still outnumbered and probably outgunned. Something screamed in the lab, a new voice, almost human and almost familiar. John came running back, glanced at the door to the lab, then pulled the panel shut and closed the door to the hall.

"Doors are open, there's about a dozen boats and a seaplane in the harbor. Heard the elevator running, we're about to have company."

David flicked off the light. "Quiet."

Shouts, doors slamming, then more cautious footsteps on the stairs. "Holy shit. Redfield tore the restraints apart."

"Fuck. The other two are gone."

Veronique shrieked and there was a sudden incredible smashing noise. Claire jumped and hoped nobody could have heard her over that. Someone else came running down the stairs.

"The fuck was that?"

"Think Redfield's killing Ashford."

"Fucking hell, I'm not getting anywhere near that. Rahn's squad deserted, Monteiro's gone, Goldberg's killed the surface access and ordered an evac. Get up here and grab your gear."

"Hallefuckinglujah."

Three sets of footsteps ran up the stairs. More shouts and slamming doors, then faint engine noises drowned out by the monster screaming furiously and another crash, and then dead silence that stretched on for minutes. David flicked the light back on.

"John, scout."

He listened at the door then eased it open, listened again, eased the panel open and went out. The spiders crawled through the vents, and clambered over the walls and the ceiling, clacking and clattering. Her left arm was white and bright red around the spot where Veronique had infected her, faintly red everywhere else still, but she'd stopped being dizzy and she didn't feel all that sick. John came back a few minutes later.

"Clear. Still a few boats left."

Rebecca was waking up enough to move on her own. David took the bags and they took the stairs up, spiders crawling along the wall. The keycard door had been bent outward, warped so badly it was probably unusuable. Something heavy moved on the other side. Blood everywhere up above, mostly fresh except for a big drying patch in the center, three dead Hunters and doors hanging open to show hastily-emptied rooms. She could see and hear water, smell gas, that must the harbor. John was heading that way already.

Muck boiled out of the water, rolling up onto the ground. John backed up hastily as it reached the entrance, rising up along the sides and pulling down the door. The door jammed halfway down, muck dripping from it in thick strings, and then the muck solidified like vomit stalactites.

John warily approached the muck and spikes shot out, making him back up hastily. "Plan B?"

"Armory," Rebecca said, gesturing vaguely. "Maybe they left something useful."

"Check it and search the area."

The armory had been almost completely cleaned out, just some flashbangs and shrapnel grenades, a collection of knives, and in another cage, a mortar with no ammo and single-use rocket launcher and rocket. Searching for something that could open it netted them a stack of MREs, a few gallons of bottled water, a half-empty medkit and finally some metal cutters that sliced off the lock. They were heading back when they heard a terrific crash.

\-----

Her wings buzzed steadily and strongly, the vibration pleasant along her bones. She released the support and hovered in place, turning to survey her ruined lab. The containers holding the preserved bodies of the others and the surrogates had all broken, releasing strong-smelling preservatives and the faint hint of decay into the air. There were spare containers and preservatives in storage, but she would have to deal with Claire first. Dr. Strickland was sprawled in front of the lab door. The floor was covered with broken glass and metal, enough that she didn't want to risk her new, still-fragile skin walking on it; she flew the short distance to her workstation, finding it largely intact, her viral collection undamaged. 

The drone had crawled away from the broken tube and sat slumped against a table; the wounds where he'd cut himself on the glass were already healing, new skin visibly growing over the damaged parts. She prepared a maintenance injection to keep his infection controlled, then flew across the room to him. He swatted at her, or tried to, his aim off; she caught his arm and delivered the injection quickly. The drone slumped again the wall, gasping for breath.

Her colony had deserted her, she didn't have enough time to retrieve them, she would have to deal with Claire alone. She should kill her, she should have killed her, but she still didn't know why Claire was a queen, where the rest of her drones were, or where her eggs were. She would immobilize Claire's drones and soldier first, that was necessary to keep them from interfering and taking more damage, and then she would decide about Claire. She flew back to her workstation, feeling an ache in her new muscles, and found the computer functional; she ordered the cryotubes on the next level to prep for use, then prepared injections and found a container to hold them.

She smashed the door open with Dr. Strickland's body, tearing it off the hinges, then dropped Strickland and flew up the stairs. She released the organic matter at the harbor as she went, sending it to flow over the floor and trap the drones and the soldier, pinning them in place, and landed on the top step. Claire was waiting for her, gun raised.

Veronique took it from her with a quick surge of organic matter, dropping it in a corner. "I still don't know why you're a queen, Claire. I should kill you but then I'd never know." She stepped further into the room.

\-----

"You won't know if I kill you." Veronique was naked, her body elongated and thin, still covered with a film of green ooze, hair matted and ropy, and she was carrying a bag of something, probably more virus, planning to spread the infection. She knew where the Sig had fallen and the rocket launcher was a few feet away from her. She had to stop this.

"Your infection isn't strong enough for that. Mother froze herself for fifteen years to let T-Veronica work, and it's only been hours for you." Veronique didn't approach her, maybe she wasn't as confident as she wanted to sound.

"And you were infected when Alfred made you." She moved to the side, closer to the rocket launcher. Spiders crawled over the walls, toward Veronique.

"Father tried many methods before he succeeded." Muck swam around her legs, but didn't quite solidify; it felt like moving though half-frozen thick mud. Then the muck near the others surged up in a wave and wrapped around Rebecca's throat, making her choke and struggle. "I only need your drones. I can make my own soldiers."

Claire froze and the muck released Rebecca's throat, enough for her to breathe. Drones again. "Too bad he forgot to make you brothers."

"None of them survived long enough to be implanted. I'll take yours instead."

Trust an Ashford not to - Chris. She'd hurt Rebecca and David, she'd infected Claire and she thought she could - "You stay the hell away from him." She was burning hot again, dizzy with sheer bloody rage and the muck touching her suddenly exploded into flames, stinking like a septic tank on fire. She felt the heat, not at all painful, maybe she'd already hit third-degree burns. What happened?

"How did you do that, Claire?" The muck near her roiled, smoking but not burning, not coming close to the blackened concrete around her. Something moved behind Veronique, a big shadow, just a hallucination, like the spiders clattering around the stairs. "You shouldn't be able to do that."

It wasn't just the shadow, she saw blood and claws. "What the hell? Is accusing people of random things an Ashford family tradition, right up there with obsessing over dead women and trying to become your sister?" She moved forward a step, the steaming muck retreating in front of her.

"Without his queen, Father had no one to be." Veronique moved back, the muck retreating to roll down the stairs. "A drone or soldier without a queen is nothing."

"He wasn't anything when Alexia was around, either. But he's dead. Alexia's dead. Guess neither of them was good for much." The bloody clawed hand rose up, the dark blob behind it rising. She cautiously moved to the side, closer to the rocket launcher. The spiders fled up onto the ceiling and headed for the back wall.

"Mother's research - "

The claw struck, tearing at Veronique's leg. She screamed and turned around, the monster pushing itself upright and making a horrifying, unintelligible moaning noise. Claire ran for the rocket launcher despite the pain, leftover muck charring to ash around her. She grabbed the launcher and turned around. Veronique screamed again, she'd grabbed the monster and picked it up, and it grabbed her around the waist, piercing her through with the claws. Claire dropped into a firing stance, set the launcher, hoped it wouldn't bring down the roof, and fired.

The recoil almost knocked her over. The lab wall fell in, the ceiling gave way, the noise was shattering and all-encompassing. She couldn't see and yanked up her shirt to cover her face against the dust and rubble pinging around, coughing, eyes watering. She didn't know if she'd hit Veronique, she might have just hit the wall instead, she couldn't hear anything over the falling concrete. When the dust settled, she couldn't see the stairs, Veronique, or the monster, just a gaping hole in the ceiling and a pile of rubble.

The roof seemed to have collapsed over the destroyed section of wall, not anywhere else. Maybe it had just been damaged by the explosion. Her pants were scorched, when she touched the fabric it disintegrated, but her legs didn't look or feel burned at all. She nearly jumped out of her skin when John touched her arm and realized she still couldn't hear. He gestured at David and Rebecca, who were standing and looking no more hurt than before, then gestured up. She nodded, hoping the stairs hadn't collapsed, and found her Sig before picking up some of the gear.

They hadn't. By the top of the stairs, Rebecca was leaning heavily on David, and David was gripping the handrail to stay upright and keep moving. 

\-----

It hadn't taken too long to figure out the door puzzle, after John remembered that one of the Saint James had been killed by a sword and David that Helen was Greek for light. The apartment was clear, nobody had found it in the last several hours, and John ducked out long enough to bring in an armload of medical supplies before closing up. Rebecca gave Claire another shot of anti-viral, cringing a little at the loss; Claire was irreplaceable and Monteiro was probably still alive somewhere. They gulped bottled water and Rebecca cleaned and bandaged wounds as well as she could; David cleaned out hers under instructions.

John checked the anteroom and the exit. Claire examined the photos and David beckoned Rebecca back into one of the tiny bedrooms.

"Claire's condition?" His voice still sounded tinny and weird, her ears not recovered from the explosion and partial collapse.

She shook her head. "I don't know. It's T-Veronica, Ashford talked to Claire like she'd tailored the strain for her, and I don't even know what to look for." Claire wasn't changing, she wasn't losing her mind, but she'd ripped a set of restraints apart. And possibly set the ooze on fire. "I'll try another shot of the vaccine if the symptoms I can see don't lessen." And if it didn't work then - what would she tell Chris and Leon? They didn't have enough to make it remotely worth not bringing her back. Not that Rebecca was sure that anything existed worth that.

"How long?"

"I don't know." They didn't have that much time, somebody would investigate or figure out how to break in. "I don't know if she's infectious, either." Maybe she should have taken over Monteiro's lab.

"Keep an eye on her," David said, resigned, and went back out.

Rebecca pulled out some old bedding and dumped it over the chairs, trying to keep contamination under control, then picked up the photo of the four people and stuck it in a bag. John reported a lot of shouting and occasional gunfire up above, probably keeping anyone from searching for this entrance. They shared out the MREs and more of the bottled water. Claire dozed off and on, Rebecca keeping an eye on her; her arm slowly returned to normal, her fever dropped, and the hallucinations leveled off. They didn't go away entirely, and Rebecca gave her a shot of the vaccine. It had worked on Jill.

Claire was dozing when John called out a warning. They could heard noises up above, heavy noises - something being moved, and then grating, grinding noises. The doors, opening.

A few moments later, Tavares called out. John answered, and quickly let in Tavares and a few Marines, along with an escort from the Ste. Selene army, and two of the Marines escorted them all back out, to a vehicle, and back to the Embassy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only an epilogue to go. Happy Halloween!


	13. Epilogue

Trent rose from his desk and walked to the window, watching the sun set. Sydney and Jackson were no doubt frantic, now that Ashford was dead and her entire facility abandoned mostly intact, people Umbrella didn't control already inside, rumors about Umbrella's manipulation of the Ste. Selene government already swirling. He'd made travel arrangements for the morning, timed to arrive in the afternoon, just when they would be desperate for his assistance.

He turned away from the window and walked to the small kitchen, setting his pre-made dinner to heat and pouring a glass of wine. It worried him that he hadn't seen Ashford die; the facility's security system had been knocked offline during the battle. Until his soldiers had been extracted, he'd had no idea what had happened, and still had only the incomplete reports he'd been able to extract from the Embassy, none of which mentioned Claire's infection.

That was very likely a deliberate omission, one he intended to continue as long as possible. Sydney would be quite happy to send her to the labs while using her as bait for her brother, and have her killed later. Others had suffered similar, or worse, fates at Umbrella's hands, but it seemed a particularly ignominious fate for a woman who had accomplished so much.

If such a thing happened, he would make arrangements to deal with it. He twisted his onyx ring and shook off the thought. Soon. Soon Umbrella would crash and burn.

He sipped his wine, thinking of tomorrow, of what would come after the fall.

\-----

Claire folded her arms across her chest and scowled at Chris. "One: I am okay. Two: This was not your fault. Three: I stole the first rocket launcher I saw." Technically John had retrieved the launcher, but she figured being the one to use it probably counted.

"You are _not_ okay." Chris scowled back and started ticking things off on his fingers. "You were attacked by Hunters, a Tyrant and a crazy bitch. You have a cracked or possibly broken rib, the crazy bitch infected you, and you should have taken the rocket launcher."

"It would have gotten confiscated. My rib will heal. And the vaccine - "

"Rebecca says it's the stuff Jill got, it's not made for T-Veronica, and she doesn't know if you're cured or in remission."

"And if you'd gone with me, Veronique would have infected both of us." Which was probably what she wanted, anyway, but Chris didn't need the reminder. "Stop beating yourself up."

"Don't change the subject."

"I am not - "

"You're not okay." He turned away. "They don't need your help."

"Hey!" He was right, David, John and Barry could find out whether Palmieri's purge had been real or not, but still - "Thanks a lot."

"You're a college student. You shouldn't even be here."

She used to be a college student and she'd probably never find out whose petty bullshit - Umbrella or the martinet in the financial aid office - had yanked all her financial aid. "You're the one who always told me not to waste time second-guessing myself."

Chris grumbled and Claire reached out to hug him. He held out for a few seconds, then hugged back, leaning his head into hers the way he had when she was a kid and her nightmares were just nightmares. "Just stay where I can keep on eye on you for a while. You get into trouble every time I turn around."

She almost told him that was her line and decided to drop it. Chris felt better if he thought he was comforting her.

\-----

Veronique hummed softly, crossing what was left of her lab. She didn't remember if the tune had ever had words; Father had hummed it often when she'd been quite small, before he'd returned to Rockfort. The drone stood against the wall, not speaking; he hadn't spoken at all since he'd been knocked out of the cryotank. Perhaps he'd been damaged.

She had run out of food that morning, earlier than she had expected; the wounds Claire and her drone had left had taken much more energy to heal than she had planned. It was time to leave. She flew to the pile of rubble that had been the main entrance, ignoring the odiferious liquids seeping under it from Dr. Strickland's remains, and summoned organic matter, easing it into cracks and crevices. She raised the rubble slowly, creating a tunnel, perhaps a little low but adequate.

She would find all the money she had hidden in various places and acquire a new residence and lab. Then perhaps she should find Claire. No, she should only track Claire, she was very dangerous. She should find drones and create workers and soldiers first.

She swept through the cleared tunnel, the drone walking unsteadily behind her, and up the stairs, hearing startled shouts in front of her.


End file.
